Keep Your Eye On The Baal
by dinkydow
Summary: Baal isn't through with Jack yet.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** "Keep Your Eye On The Baal"

**Author:** Dinkydow

**Email:** Sequel to "Baal On The Rebound", action/adventure, hurt/comfort, drama, buckets of angst, and some ship thrown in for good measure too.

**Pairings:** Jack/Sam

**Content Level: **18+

**Season:** Season 9

**Spoilers: **"Zero Hour", "Ex Deus Machina"

**Warnings:** Gratuitous mention of medals, some language, violence, torture, and mention of body parts.

**Summary:** Baal isn't through with Jack.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own any of them. Couldn't afford to if I did and don't have a mountain to hide them in. Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions do. I wrote this for entertainment and won't be making any money for it, so please don't sue. But, if you guys want any help with scripts, or Jack, just give me a holler.

**Dedication: **To our fighting men and women and the loved ones who watch them march in harms way.

**Author's Notes:** Here's another Dinkyfic. Thank you to Jolene for serving as a sounding board for this fic. She truly has an evil mind when it comes to whumping Jack. Be very afraid. g Thanks also to Linda for the beta.

_"Think I'll turn in." Baal started out of the room. "We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow." _

_Baal in "Ex Deus Machina"_

President Henry Hayes straightened his tie and swallowed hard, but the lump of apprehension was still lodged in his throat. He leaned forward in his seat, palms flat on his thighs – anything to keep his fingers away from the tie that felt more like a noose than a fundamental part of a well-dressed man's wardrobe.

General George Hammond, retired, smiled, "Nervous, Mister President?"

"Does it show?" Hayes shrugged and then tugged at his tie. "You know, I meet with world leaders all the time in this office. Hell, I've even faced down some aliens in my time – but this meeting . . ." his words trailed off and he got up to pace, then as a thought occurred to him, he stopped and faced his companion. "He is human . . . isn't he?"

Hammond chuckled. "Yes, he's human – his blood is just as red as yours or mine. I should know, I've seen it often enough – why do you ask?"

Hayes gave him a lop-sided grin. "Just a thought, what with his Ancient powers and all. According to what I've seen from the SGC mission reports, it wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen by any stretch of the imagination."

"He's no alien – just a very unusual man who happens to be your head of Home World Security."

Henry felt George's eyes while his eyes follow him as he continued to wear a path in the Presidential Seal carpet underneath his feet. "Heck, you even out-rank him."

Hayes gave him a baleful look and stopped in front of him. "That I do – which brings us to the topic of why the chief of Home World Security – and his secretary – are being escorted here by the secret service in my armored limo." He paused. "And don't tell me I told you so, George."

"I wouldn't think of it, Mister President," but George's eyes had a suspicious twinkle in their depths.

"Even though you were against the whole thing from the start and knew how Jack O'Neill would react to being placed in protective custody?"

Hammond shrugged and said nothing. Come to think of it, the man showed some sense there Henry thought.

Hayes resumed his pacing. "So, just how pissed off is he?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . I haven't seen him since we were all medically cleared at the SGC." The balding Texan took his time. "And it's been how long since this whole thing started?"

Hayes paused in mid-stride and cocked his head, brow furrowed, as he counted out the days on his fingers, "Five . . . six . . . seven days?" He nodded, "Oh . . . about a week."

"And Jack was finally allowed to go home . . . when?"

"Today?" Hayes' face fell. "Oh, I see what you mean." He slumped into his chair, "Very pissed then."

"Very," Hammond agreed.

"You sure you don't want to do this?" Hayes gave him a lop-sided grin, the one that had worked so well in situations like this.

Hammond's eyes narrowed. "Are you ordering me to, Mister President?"

"No, I can't do that," Hayes sighed heavily. "This is something I have to do, much as I don't want to."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Mister President. I was beginning to wonder if working in The Oval Office had," he paused as if searching for the right words, "affected your notion of right and wrong. I'm glad to see that I was barking up the wrong tree."

The fact that his old friend felt he couldn't risk offending him touched a nerve, they'd trusted each other back when they'd served together, but now that he was in the White House, things were different. He wished it weren't so – unfortunately it came along with the territory.

Deflated, President Hayes settled back into his chair and pondered how far they'd both come since they'd been co-workers in the Air Force. The memories of that time helped ease some of the tension he felt.

Henry attempted to lighten the mood; God knew it would be tense enough in the near future. "So, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the highest . . ."

His reference had the desired effect on the man sitting with him when George chuckled. "You still use our infamous 'Pee-ohed scale'?"

"Officially? No." Hayes shook his head and then grinned. "Unofficially? Every chance I get – and why not? It works."

"And if it works, don't fix it," they chorused together.

"Oh, I'd say it would be around a ten or eleven."

"That high? Let's see . . . on our scale that would mean eyes bulged out, cursing a blue-streak and throwing crockery at the person in question." Hayes nodded, "Can't say as I blame him. We were pretty high-handed with him, weren't we?"

Hammond grinned. "To borrow a phrase – ya think?"

Henry held up a hand. "But not without cause," he amended.

"Mister President, with all due respect, cut the malarkey. I don't deserve it, and neither does Jack. You and I both owe him an apology and you know it."

Hayes opened his mouth to interrupt and George held up a hand. "Wait, let me finish. Even though we had a damn good reason for what we did, we still owe him that much. And a whole lot more if you ask me."

The President grinned and leaned forward, his fingers interlaced in front of him. "Okay, since you brought it up, I am asking; what else do we owe him?"

"Why don't you ask him, Mister President? Though I have an idea what he'll say . . . and it won't be a medal, I can tell you that much. He's already got a chest-full of 'em."

"What will it be then?" Hayes was serious now. "Come on, tell me."

Hammond looked away and his voice grew soft. "I don't know if we can give it to him."

"Why not?"

"Because, he'll say he wants his life back – to be left alone – or retire to his cabin in Minnesota. Unfortunately, I don't think we can afford to let him do that."

George paused and looked at his hands and then back up at his companion. He appeared troubled, as if he was about to betray the trust Jack had in him. Hayes' already high opinion of his Chief of Home World Security went up a notch. If O'Neill inspired that kind of loyalty in an honorable man like George Hammond then he must be something else.

His gaze was riveted on Hammond's face as he continued to speak softly. "You don't know him like I do, Mister President. You see, he didn't ask for all this attention. And if you ask him why he's so danged important, he'll look at you like you've lost your cotton-picking mind. To his way of thinking, being saddled with the Ancient gene is a huge honkin' liability," George paused to smile, "and if he had his say, he'd be rid of it in a heartbeat. As for his success in fighting the Goa'uld and gaining off-world allies like the Asgard, he puts it down to luck – or his team."

Completely serious now, Hammond leveled his gaze at the powerful man sat next to him. "But the fact is that Baal and a whole mess of his clones are still here on our planet, holed up somewhere – planning heaven knows what kind of mischief. The only thing I can guarantee about this particular Goa'uld is that whatever it is that he's up to, it won't be anything good. And chances are pretty high that it will involve Jack O'Neill."

Hayes was silent, with only the sound of a ticking clock in the background. "So . . . what can I offer a man like Jack, besides the sight of a groveling President?"

Hammond shrugged. "The gratitude of a man who's had to make some damned distasteful decisions. Mister President, be honest with him, and help him make some kind of life for himself within the constraints of who he is and his importance to our world."

Hayes nodded. Once again, his friend from Texas had given him the answers he needed.

Ida Grayson, U.S. Army First Sergeant, retired, awkwardly patted her hair into place with her free hand as she settled back into the stretch limo. Having her arm in a cast had played havoc with her personal hygiene and she'd learned the hard way she could knock herself out if she forgot it was there. As if the ache wouldn't remind her.

Seated next to her was her boss, General Jack O'Neill. Both of them had been summoned to the White House by the President himself and were being taken there in his limo. To top it all off, they had a motorcade that usually accompanied top-ranking officials and dignitaries.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and then winced when the waistband of her pants dug into her stomach. She'd put on a few pounds recently and her best slacks didn't fit as well as they used to. Plus the awkward cast on her left arm itched and the sling around her neck chaffed.

The pounds she blamed on her cramped quarters and working space in the underground bunker where she'd lived for the past week. The cast was a result of some rough handling by Baal's goons. As for the anxiety – that could be laid at the feet of President Henry Hayes.

She'd never been summoned to the White House before, and as a good NCO, she'd lived by the credo that you never volunteered for anything and avoided being noticed by high-ranking officers. That is, unless you liked having your ass chewed on a regular basis. After twenty-five years in the military, she had enough scar tissue on her backside to last her a lifetime.

She'd only been allowed a short stop at her home – just long enough to change clothes – with a secret service agent guarding her door like she was somebody important. Her choice of clothing had been limited by her broken arm and she'd finally opted for a simple short-sleeved blouse and dress slacks.

Fortunately, her son hadn't left for his college class yet, so she was able to check on him. He said he'd missed her, but seemed to be behaving himself. At least she'd been able to see him though.

When he'd spied the cast, he'd had a fit, which wasn't surprising. After his initial outburst, he'd helped her change, buttons being a bit much for her to handle one-handed. He was a good boy despite his lack of a stay-at-home Mom.

Her job in the Army had kept her from being there as much as she'd liked while her kids were young, and she'd vowed that she'd spend more time with them now that she was a civilian. Looked like that was another promise she might not be able to keep.

According to what her boss had told her, he'd received the same treatment and from the scowl on his face, he hadn't liked it one bit. It made her wonder if she – no they – would ever live a normal life again.

She glanced sideways when she heard a familiar curse.

"Crap," Jack muttered as he tugged at his tie.

"Quit squirming, sir. I'm not gonna fix that for you again if you mess it up," she warned. "And don't make me slap you up-side your head with this cast," she moved the arm in question slightly and then added as an afterthought, "sir."

"'Danged tie feels like a hangman's noose," he said as he hooked a finger under his collar and pulled at the fabric.

"Just be thankful you don't have to wear high-heels, sir," Ida admonished. "I swear whoever invented them must've hated women."

"Why do we have to get all dressed up, anyway? It's only the President," he grumbled.

"Oh, listen to you – 'only the President'," she mocked in a whining tone. "And you know darned well why we're all dressed up."

Jack scowled and continued to worry at his neckpiece.

"Put your hands down and let me look at you," she ordered in her best Drill Sergeant bark. "See? You clean up pretty good, if I say so myself."

The tone worked and he settled down, but not without shooting her a baleful glare; which she let bounce off. It was just another of his cranky moods.

Ida had to admit he cut a striking figure – his lean frame filled out his Class A uniform in all the right places – and his chest was literally dripping with medals. She recognized most of them and had to admit he must've been through the mill – you didn't find those in the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. Before she'd retired, she'd collected her own fruit salad, and while impressive, it couldn't compete with his.

From his chest-full of medals, her eyes traveled upward. The general's tanned neck made a striking contrast to his light-colored shirt and his mouth quirked into a half-smile that showed off his dimples. The dent between his eyes that deepened when he was stressed looked like a canyon, and his expressive brown eyes were obsidian hard.

As for his silver hair, it stuck up in the back despite her best efforts to smooth it down. She'd tried – really she had – until he'd swatted her hand away.

Ida had made a point of walking behind him on her way to the limo – not an easy task because O'Neill was a gentleman and had tried to walk along-side her. The few moments when she'd accomplished her mission had been worth it though. She'd watch his six anytime – literally and figuratively.

Oh, my, yes – her boss made that uniform look mighty fine. If she didn't know he was already spoken for . . . Ida squashed that thought. Time to get your mind out of the gutter girl, he's not only your boss, he's got a woman who thinks the world of him.

Still . . . She puffed out a breath and fanned herself with one hand. Lordy, at the rate she was going, she'd need a cold shower. Somehow the BDU's just didn't do him justice.

"Ida? Are you okay?"

"What?" she sputtered. "Oh, um . . . yes. I got a little warm, that's all."

Ida bit her lip and concentrated on the mantra she'd used as a Drill Sergeant at West Point. 'He's just another wet-behind-the-ears flyboy officer. It's your job to teach him how to behave and hopefully, he won't embarrass you – much – in front of the commander.'

Yep, she told herself. That's all he is, just another officer you have to whip into shape. She groaned and pictured herself doing push-ups . . . a lot of them – followed by a fifteen-mile road march – with a full pack – at Fort Dix in the dead of winter.

"Crap," she muttered and then grimaced. Now he's got me saying it, she thought with chagrin.

The limo slowed and she watched as the gates of the White House loomed into view. She sucked in a breath as they opened and their motorcade crept up the drive to stop in front of a place she'd only seen through the wrought-iron fence till now. They'd arrived – in more ways than one.

From the scowl on O'Neill's face she figured he wasn't looking forward to the coming visit. But then, come to think of it, considering that it was on the President's orders that her boss – and ultimately her too – had been placed in protective custody, he might have a bone to pick with his Commander In Chief.

At least she'd had some inkling as to what was happening when her life was turned upside down; he'd been told nothing. Instead, he'd had been hauled off without knowing who, what, where, or why he was going. She mentally smacked her forehead. Of course he was upset.

"We're here, sir."

Jack raised an eyebrow and growled, "Ya think?"

The writhing symbiote screeched its outrage as Baal held it in both fists. Bringing it to his lips, his perfectly white teeth flashed as he buried them in the neck, and severed the head from the body where it dropped to the floor. Dark ichor dribbled down his chin as he held the now limp body in one hand and swallowed; its blood oozed down his throat. His tongue flashed out as he licked the dead symbiote's life fluid from his lips.

Baal raised the hapless symbiote on high for the assembled clones. "This one dared to defy my commands."

He threw the remains onto the floor where he ground them into the tiles with his heel. The sound of bones crunching underfoot was over-loud in the crowded room.

"Know you this – no one defies me and lives. To attempt it will ensure that you end as this one – offal for my feasting." His eyes flashed as he surveyed his clones. They looked uneasy. Good, that was what he wanted – and expected – from them.

Anat, his blond-haired queen stood at his side, a not-so-subtle reminder that she supported his words and was the power behind his throne. Her slender hand reached out to caress Baal's face and wiped away some of the dark blood from his chin. She delicately licked the blood off her fingers and smiled radiantly at her mate.

He returned her smile and reveled in the offerings her gaze promised; his blood throbbed in his veins as he envisioned their future mating.

Baal's eyes flashed with exultation tempered with the knowledge that he could not afford one moment of carelessness in his dealings with the clones. One moment of distraction would be all it took for one of his rivals to seize power from him. No, his queen would have to wait until he had secured the obedience of his clones.

He wrenched his attention back to the present and his audience. "You exist only to serve me. Nonetheless I know that there are those of you who continue to entertain thoughts of my downfall."

Silence greeted this announcement. They knew better to deny the obvious – he knew them inside and out and their denial would mean nothing. Were he in their place, he would do the same – it was in their nature. And who would know better than he? After all, they were duplicates of the original – Baal.

"You will all receive an implant that will allow you to fulfill the duties I assign you. However, should you fail to comply with my directions, you will die."

Baal chuckled, but the sound held no joy. "This device will be implanted in your brains, at the base of your skull. Not the skull of your host, but your own. Should you disobey my wishes after it has been implanted I will do . . . nothing."

Some of the clones murmured in surprise, the smarter ones were silent and Baal watched them with approval. They had learned that he was a force to be reckoned with. He shared a smile with his queen and she nodded her approval. He knew she had cataloged those who had remained silent.

"The implant will execute my will. If not recharged on a regular basis, it will release a poison into your bloodstream that will dissolve first your body – then that of your host."

"For those who believe – as did this one," he gestured to the slimy remains ground into the floor, "that taking another host will absolve you of your allegiance to me . . ."

He paused and surveyed his audience. They in turn studied him for any sign of weakness.

"To take another host will not enable you to escape my dominion, for you will carry the seeds of your destruction within your own bodies."

He took the hand of his queen, Anat. Together they stood on the dais and surveyed their court of Baal look-alikes. "No one will leave this room until the device has been implanted."

He smiled as he watched the reaction of the clones. It ranged from anger to resignation. All of their responses, though, held the seed of calculated consideration. Even now, he knew, each of them was bent on escaping his domination.

"Jaffa, kree! Bring him."

He watched as his Jaffa presented one of his clones that struggled between them. "This one has been less than successful in his assigned endeavor and received the implant this morning. It was left uncharged to provide a demonstration of my dominion over you." He snapped his fingers. "Observe and learn."

For a moment there was only silence and the sound of the clone struggling against the grip the Jaffa had on his arms. Then the clone's eyes grew wide and he screamed. The bubbling sound rent the air in the chamber and spoke of some nameless terror. The duplicates exchanged troubled glances and then riveted their eyes upon the dais and their unfortunate companion.

The captive's eyes flashed and then dimmed. Spittle dribbled out of his now slack lips as he hung limp between the Jaffa who held him upright. They released their hold on him and he collapsed unmoving on the floor.

An odor of decay – and something else – drifted from the body. Seconds later a tendril of smoke drifted upwards as the body shriveled and then burst into flame. Its bluish fire flared and then died away, leaving behind a pile of ashes where the body of the clone had been.

Baal watched the tableau with satisfaction, his clones seemed to be impressed – or at the very least – aware of the danger he posed. "Remember this; you were created in my own image at my direction. As such I can destroy my creation when it suits me."

His Jaffa were loyal and would obey him – and only him – without question. They'd already been deployed so that all exits were blocked. The clones were completely encircled – and had no place else to go.

"Prepare them. Let none leave until it is finished."

The doctors in their lab-coats waited at the other end of the room as the Jaffa shepherded the clones toward them.

Baal smiled and waved one hand toward his Jaffa. "If any resist – destroy them."

Then he left the room hand in hand with his queen. Reigning over his clones was tiresome and he was in need of a diversion – one she would provide. The next phase of his plan to dominate this world would be set into motion once his clones had been brought to heel. The power of the Ancients would yet be his.

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

Jack and Ida were escorted into the Oval Office by the Secret Service. The room looked familiar to Jack, not because he'd spent a lot of time there, but because it was so often the backdrop for news headliners and photo-ops.

He flashed back to pictures that showed a toddling John Junior playing with his Dad, President Kennedy. Jack had been a youngster then too, full of himself and the dreams of what he would do – now, he was much older and jaded – with the weight of the world quite literally on his shoulders.

He tensed at the thought of microphones and flashing cameras thrust into his face and was relieved when he didn't see anyone except President Hayes and George Hammond waiting for them.

Come to think of it, though – the press were the last people who'd be invited to this little soirée. No photo ops here – the things they were about to talk about wouldn't see the light of day for some time – if ever.

It was just as well; he wasn't in the mood to make nice for the cameras. On their way to the White House, he'd only been allowed enough time to grab his Class A's. So no, the press would not be a good idea at this high-level meet-and-greet. If he were lucky, he'd keep his cool and not unload a truckload of pent-up whoop-ass on his Commander in Chief.

As for his private life, after he'd been medically cleared by the new Doc in the SGC Infirmary he'd visited with Sam – briefly, very briefly. That in no way made up for the fact that the plans they'd made had been ruined – or that Cassie and Sam had been worried sick when he'd dropped out of sight so suddenly.

Come to think of it, maybe he'd luck out after all, because if he did just happen to lose it – right there in the Oval Office in front of witnesses – he might get canned or even forced into early retirement. Now, wouldn't that just break his heart – NOT!

Jack paused a moment to take in the view – out of habit, his brown eyes cataloged every detail. He'd been in this office before, back when he'd accepted the position of Chief of Home World Security and old habits died hard – especially if they'd saved his ass in the past.

No lush gardens showed through the bay windows behind the famous desk that dominated the room because it was dark outside. The only thing seen through those windows was the back of the agent on the porch – a guard against any interruptions.

As they entered the room, Hayes smiled in greeting and stood, as did Hammond. Jack and Ida saluted, their bodies held at attention. Even with her left arm in a sling, the sight of Ida's salute in her civilian clothes did not seem out of place, her conduct merely confirmed her service to her country.

"Mister President," said Jack and Ida as one voice.

Hayes returned the salute. Only then did Jack and Ida's hands drop back to their sides.

"Jack, Ida, please have a seat," Hayes waved them to the unoccupied color-coordinated couch lined with comfy pillows that were embroidered with the Presidential Seal.

"I suppose you're wondering why I brought you here," said Hayes as he took his seat in the chair facing them.

Jack sat ramrod straight on the soft couch and resisted the soft pillows that urged him to relax. He said nothing, and quirked an eyebrow upward as he'd already decided to let Hayes show his cards before he spoke. It wasn't that he didn't have plenty to say, but it could wait – until later. While it was true that he was upset – to put it mildly – it would do him no good if he flew off the handle prematurely.

One thing he'd learned from his time in special ops and dealing with aliens – never let them get inside your head to the point where your anger prevented you from thinking clearly. Angry men made fatal mistakes and he wasn't about to treat the man that sat in front of him as anything but his adversary. Just because they were on the same side didn't mean he could – or should – trust him.

When Hayes exchanged a glance with Hammond, Jack smirked and mentally chalked up a point for his side. He noted that Ida, too, was silent; that made two points for his side.

He watched as Hammond smiled as if at a private joke.

Hayes shrugged and then spoke. "You aren't going to make this any easier for me, are you, Jack?"

He decided to throw him a bone – a small one. He looked him square in the eye, his brown eyes bored into the eyes of the man that spoke to him. "Mister President?"

Hayes sighed and wiped his hands on his pants. "The reason I asked both of you here tonight was to apologize for the inconvenience you've been through this past week."

Hayes extended his hands and smiled; the one Jack knew he used to disarm his opponents and win them over. It worked too – on politicians – he was no politician.

"Inconvenience?" Jack's words came out soft with a hint of outraged disbelief.

"Maybe that wasn't the right word . . ." temporized the President.

"Ya think?"

Then Hayes shrugged and straightened in his chair, like a man who had nothing to lose. "Why don't you tell me about it, Jack?"

Jack compressed his lips and chanced a look at Hammond, his former CO, who nodded.

"By your order I was drugged and shanghaied from my office in the Pentagon. When I woke up I didn't know where the hell I was. I was treated like a prisoner with no say-so in where I lived or where I could go. My friends were worried sick when they couldn't contact me." His voice started out soft, but gained in volume as he continued. "Mister President, the last time I checked, this was a country where such things were against the law. So yes, you could say I was inconvenienced." With two fingers, he hooked quotes around the last word.

Jack watched in disbelief as Hayes turned to George who was wearing a smirk. "You were right; it's about a ten or eleven."

"Am I missing something?" Jack huffed, his face twisted with irony. "Because you seem to think this is all one big joke."

He stood, too angry to sit any longer. His hands were fisted at his sides as he shook with suppressed rage. "And if it is. . .," he shook his head and turned away from them, too angry to speak. "I think I'd better leave now."

His jaw was clenched so hard it hurt, and he ground his teeth.

"No, I want to hear what you have to say," Hayes said.

Jack turned to face him, still shaking with rage. "No, Mister President," he spat and made the title sound like an obscenity, "I don't think you do."

"Why not? Do you really think being called a son of a bitch will hurt my feelings? I've been called a lot worse," he paused. "Let's face it, you're pissed off at me, and have every right to be. I was pretty high-handed where you were concerned."

"Ya think?" Jack gaped, "How would you like it if you were shot by your own people? Huh?"

"I wouldn't like it."

"Then can the pretty speeches and let me and Ida go home. Quiet frankly, I've had it up to here," his hand measured forehead-high, "with pretty speeches and all I want to do is sleep in my own bed for a change."

Hayes and George exchanged glances before his former CO spoke. "This is your show, Mister President."

Hayes sighed. "Yes, it is, and thanks for reminding me, George." Then he turned to O'Neill and raised his hands. "It seems we got off on the wrong foot for a minute there." When Jack opened his mouth to speak, Henry waved him down. "Now, wait a minute, hear me out."

Jack's mouth snapped shut and he shrugged. "You're the boss."

"That I am," Hayes admitted. "I'll admit you have plenty to be mad about, and I want you to believe me when I tell you that the decision to have you placed in protective custody was not an easy one to make. As I'm sure George already told you, Thor himself initiated the whole process when he beamed down to tell me that Baal was in the area and looking for you."

"I'll bet the Secret Service loved that visit. They didn't hurt him, did they?"

The thought of the havoc that Thor must've caused when he'd beamed down to talk to the President brought a grin to his face. Now that he would've loved to see. Thoughts of his Asgard friend calmed him and he sat down, his arms propped on his knees.

"No, I called them off."

"So, how is my little gray buddy?"

"Worried about you, Jack."

"Yeah, well, he worries too much if you ask me – which you didn't."

"You're right, we didn't. But put yourself in my shoes. What would you have done if you were told by a reliable source that – say Colonel Samantha Carter – was being targeted by an enemy?"

Jack's lips thinned as he shook his head. "That's different; Carter is one of our world's greatest treasures. Me? I'm just a flyboy who got lucky a few times."

"That's where you're wrong, Jack. Between your abilities with the Ancient hardware and your invaluable experience, you're a person we can't afford to lose. Heck, Baal knows it too. Why else do you suppose he was so eager to get his mitts on you?"

Jack's hands sat white-knuckled on his knees as he listened to his Commander in Chief. The atmosphere was charged with tension and he knew Hayes hadn't picked this particular room for their meeting by accident.

The Oval Office was the symbol of the authority of The President – his Commander – Head of his country's armed forces, 'The Buck Stops Here' Guy.

He'd been surprised to see George there, and for a moment, he'd wondered if he had nothing to fear – that things would work out okay. But now . . .?

The meeting wasn't going well for him, and he could already see the writing on the wall. They were making a heck of a case for themselves. By the time they finished with him tonight, he'd be locked away for the foreseeable future.

"Baal and I have . . . history; he wants a re-match, that's all."

"Cut the bull, Jack. It's more than that and you know it," Hammond said with an edge to his voice. "Baal knows your importance and what's more, he's still around."

O'Neill leaned forward, his eyes dangerous. "So, now what? Are you gonna lock me up for the rest of my life and throw away the key?"

"I could," Hayes acknowledged.

"Well, that won't work, because in case you hadn't figured it out yet, with the Asgard transporter technology, there is no place on earth – or anywhere else for that matter – that he can't get to me. Last week's fiasco proved my point. And now Baal and his clowns just doubled and tripled the fun."

"What do you suggest?" Hayes shot back, his voice deceptively mild.

Jack tensed, suspecting a trap, and then decided what the hell, what did he have to lose at this point?

"Let me do my job, Mister President," Jack ground out between clenched teeth.

"You yourself admit that you're a target, Jack. How can we protect you if you're out in the open? You'd be a sitting duck," Hayes retorted.

"I can take care of myself." Jack lifted his chin, his eyes blazing.

His inner voice urged caution, no need to let 'the man' get you excited. Think this out, Jack, he thought.

The President paused before he spoke again. "No, it's too risky. If he caught you, he'd have access to everything that you know."

"Your only other option is to lock me up, Mister President and I'm warning you now, I won't go willingly."

"I could make it an order, Jack."

"Orders are made to be broken, and to put it quite frankly, what would you do if I said no? Bend my dog-tags? Make me retire?" Jack smirked. "Oh, please, Mister Fox, don't throw me in the briar patch; anything but that," he sing-songed.

"He's got you there, Mister President," Ida grinned. Jack smiled at her. It was good to know that she had his back.

Hayes turned his attention to Ida. "You know him . . . and what's at stake here. What's your take on this, Ida?"

"Oh, no, don't ask me. I'm just the loyal secretary. I know nothing, I see nothing," she mimicked.

George glared at Ida and Jack knew she was about to get a lecture. He'd been on the receiving end of that look often enough to know.

"That's one thing you're not and you know it, Ida. You're a brilliant tactician in your own right, I've seen your record and you're no 'just' anything."

She licked her lips as if in thought, "I think you're all too closely involved to see the problem for what it really is." Ida paused. "Let's break this down – what does Baal want from General O'Neill – I mean, besides revenge?"

"His knowledge?" Hayes tapped the side of his head.

Ida shook her head. "I don't think so, it just doesn't make sense. If that's all Baal wanted, he's wasting his time; he knows from experience that the general won't talk. He didn't before."

"How . . .?" Jack's mouth hung open and then he closed it with an audible snap.

"I can read, and I did my research." Ida glared at the men assembled in front of her. "I wanted to know what kind of boss I was getting."

Jack looked surprised but George just nodded as if she'd confirmed what he already suspected.

"I'll put it simply. What does the general have that no one else does?" Ida asked.

"The Ancient gene?" Hayes answered. "But what good would that do him? Even if he had Jack, he couldn't force him to do what he wanted."

Jack was silent and watched her – Ida's deductive skills were top-notch – though, he didn't like where this was headed.

"Does Baal have the technology to extract this gene and implant it in someone else?"

They all stared at Ida, dumfounded. Jack's eyes widened and he fell silent. Ida was right, the truth had been right in front of them and they – no he – hadn't seen it. Crap, this was so not a good thing.

"Oh, my god," breathed Hammond. "She's right."

"Baal with the Ancient gene? Can he do that?" Jack swallowed so hard it seemed to echo around the room.

Hammond shrugged. "We don't know, but just because our experiments in that area hit a dead end, doesn't mean that his won't. I doubt very much that his people will follow the guidelines that ours did."

Jack stood, his face twisted in horror as he shook his head in vehement denial. His mind screamed as he envisioned the ramifications of what Ida had just said.

"That's it, get it out of me. I never wanted it in the first place, so just get it the hell out of me – now!"

"That won't work, Jack. Even if we could – which we can't – can we?" Hayes looked at Hammond and Jack for confirmation. The Texan shook his head.

Jack scrubbed his fingers through his hair, which left tufts stood at attention. He took a deep breath to calm himself and chanted his mantra – never let them piss you off, Jack.

Like his life depended on it, he forced himself to sit and forced his attention on Ida, the woman who seemed to have all the answers tonight. Come to think of it, his life probably did depend on it. Crap, this was not going well – not well at all.

Ida continued. "What I'm trying to say, is that Baal knows Jack has the Ancient gene and will stop at nothing to get it. Am I right?"

"He endangered his whole organization on this planet to get it. No way is he going to stop now," Hammond confirmed.

Calmer now, Jack searched for the loophole in her reasoning that had to be there and brightened when he found it. "But, what good would it do for Baal to have the gene? Don't the Ancient devices have some kind of built-in failsafe thingy that keeps the Goa'uld from activating them? The first Ancient library we found wouldn't activate for Teal'c." Another thought occurred to him. "And we also know that Thor put some kind of marker in my DNA so Loki couldn't clone me – successfully that is."

Ida shrugged, "If Baal was able to insert the Ancient DNA into someone he controlled, a device could be activated. And he might not care how long the clone lived. Baal doesn't strike me as the type who would worry about things like that."

Jack snorted, "You could say that again."

"I figured as much."

The talk about Thor gave him an idea. "What about Thor? He messed with my DNA before; maybe he could extract this gene thingy? Get it out of me once and for all."

"No, Jack. I don't think he can." Hammond shook his head but looked apologetic.

"Or won't?" Jack was angry again and took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache.

"Regardless, you have the Ancient gene, whether you like it or not." Hammond wouldn't let up – damn the man.

"Well, I sure as hell don't like it."

"I don't blame you, Jack. But think about it, even if we could somehow remove the gene, Baal wouldn't believe it for a second. No, he wants you – or rather the Ancient gene – and will stop at nothing to get it."

"Crap." Jack scrubbed his face with both hands as his headache spiked.

"That's one way to put it," Hayes grunted.

"It still leaves me with a huge honkin' bulls-eye on my ass," Jack said, "And no way to stop him from getting at me if he really wants to."

Everyone looked worried, and that wasn't good – so much for retirement and having a life.

"I don't suppose the Slime-Baal would settle for a cheek swab to get a DNA sample?" Jack looked hopeful but no one seemed ready to take him up on it. "No, I didn't think so, but it doesn't hurt to ask."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but we're left with only one viable option," Hayes said.

"And that is?" Jack's eyebrows rose to his silvery hairline.

"Like Jack said, let him do his job. And in the meantime implant him with a miniaturized tracking device that will allow us to keep track of him. If and when Baal grabs Jack, we move in and eliminate the threat, once and for all."

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, that's a plan. A sucky one if you ask me."

"Can you think of a better one?" Hammond challenged. "We're asking for your input this time."

Jack shook his head and buried his face in his hands as old memories threatened to engulf him. He could almost feel the rough brown cloth rasp against his skin and smell the smoke as it wafted from the acid-burned hole in his chest. His heart lurched as he remembered what it had felt like to die – over and over again.

Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed convulsively to keep it from spewing out of his mouth and onto the expensive rug under his feet. His hand wiped at the sweat that suddenly beaded his forehead.

No, he wouldn't – couldn't go there. He'd be prepared this time and he'd kick some serious snake butt. Plus he'd have backup that knew where he was at all times and could be depended on to pull his ass out of the fire.

He sighed and stared at the rug under his feet – anywhere but at the faces of the people with him in this room. He knew what he'd see in their eyes – pity – and he couldn't stand that. As hard as he tried, he couldn't see any way out of what they proposed. He'd have to go through with it.

"I want to ask a huge favor," he murmured.

He was surprised how soft the words were once they were out of his mouth and harbored a hope that no one had heard them. The plea sounded heart-wrenching – even to him.

"What is it, Jack? You know if it's possible . . ." Hayes seemed serious. Maybe the shrub – Hayes – realized what this meant – what they were asking him to do.

Jack wet his lips and leveled his gaze at Hayes. "If for some reason . . ." he stopped and swallowed his mouth suddenly devoid of all moisture. "When Baal is doing his thing and if for some reason you can't get me out of there. . ." He paused as his voice cracked. "Listen, he's had me by the short hairs before, and believe me when I say this, it was no picnic."

"We'll do everything possible to get you out of there, Jack. You have my word on that."

"I know you will, Mister President," he laughed nervously and wiped his hands on his pants.

No one said anything so Jack continued, serious once again. "As I was saying, make sure he doesn't get away this time, sir because you can bet the real Baal will be there; I doubt he would trust something like this to one of his clones. In his place I know I wouldn't." Jack's eyes grew hard as flint. "Do whatever you have to do to get that bastard."

"Whatever we have to do . . . I understand, Jack – and I will, I promise."

"Thank you, sir."

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

xXx

Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter, U.S. Air Force, blinked her eyes to clear them of the glare from the transporter and flexed her hand around the handle of her aluminum case. Satisfied that it had survived intact and made the trip with her, she looked around. She was where she was supposed to be – the Oval Office of the White House. Holy Hannah, this sure beat flying coach, she mused.

"Mister President?" she said as she brought her right hand up into a salute. "Generals Hammond and O'Neill, Ms. Grayson."

President Hayes answered her salute with one of his own. "Colonel Carter? Welcome to the Oval Office. I hope we didn't wake you."

Jack interrupted. "Are you kidding, sir? She'd much rather mess with her doohickeys than sleep, am I right, Carter?"

She bit her lip and ducked her chin to avoid embarrassment. "I wasn't asleep . . . and besides, I could hardly turn down an invitation like this."

"There is that," Jack conceded. "Did you bring the gadget?"

"Right here, sir." She turned her head to address the President. "Am I to understand that it will be placed on General O'Neill?"

"That's the plan, right Jack?" Hayes nodded.

"Yeah sureyabetcha." Jack sighed – one that seemed full of resignation to Sam.

She hadn't been briefed on the full ramifications of the mission by Landry, only that a tracking device was needed for Jack – and that it involved the continued threat from Baal. She'd discover the details though, one way or another – though she had a feeling she wasn't going to like it – especially when it involved Jack.

"Sir? I hope you don't mind but when General Landry told me what you wanted, I made some modifications of my own." When everyone looked at her, she explained further, "What I mean is that this isn't a homing device per se."

"What exactly is it then?" Hayes looked puzzled.

"It's a radio-active isotope that will be injected into his bloodstream."

Jack's eyebrows did a meet-and-greet with his hairline. "Whoa Nelly – radio-active you say?"

"It's completely safe, sir."

"Completely?"

"Of course, sir," she affected an injured tone. "Would I make anything else?"

"Just checking."

"Why don't you explain, Samantha," encouraged Hammond.

She nodded and set the case down next to her. "When General Landry briefed me, I got to thinking. Wouldn't Baal realize we were tracking the general and look for some sort of homing device?"

"Go on," Jack smiled.

"So I devised a special isotope to be injected into his bloodstream. It has a half-life of. . ."

"Ack! Carter," interrupted Jack with his hands over his ears. "My ears are bleeding."

"Sorry, sir," Sam said and bit her lip. Holy Hannah, she was doing it again, boring everyone to tears.

She tugged her skirt back over her knees and reflected that she preferred her BDU's but since this was the White House – General Landry had suggested she wear her Class B uniform. Thank goodness she had been able to forego the Class A regalia and jacket. The navy-blue skirt and light blue blouse was uncomfortable enough as it was.

"Just give us the basics," encouraged Hayes.

"Yes, Mister President. The isotope can't be removed and will last one and a half to two months. The Prometheus can monitor its location anywhere on this planet."

"What will happen when the Hair-Baal doesn't find any device? Won't he get suspicious?" Jack asked.

"I brought a regular one with me and will place it on his dog-tags. Once Baal finds that, he won't be so suspicious."

She bit back the questions that were on the tip of her tongue – such as how do you know Baal will catch you? Just what are your plans, Jack? Or is this something you're being forced to do by the President?

She watched the people around her with increased wariness. Did they really have Jack's best interests in mind?

"So, how are you gonna get this thingy inside me?"

"It will be injected, sir," Sam smiled deviously.

She knew how Jack felt about needles and planned to enjoy this. However, she also realized that Jack kidded around the most when he was hiding something – best to play along – for now.

"How big is the needle?" Jack's eyes narrowed.

There were worse things to worry about besides needles though; and the teasing was a welcome distraction. The more she heard, the more worried she became.

"Not very, sir."

"Compared to . . . what, Carter?"

Jack took off his jacket and folded it carefully onto his lap. Then he rolled up his right shirtsleeve.

"Ida?" Sam gestured to where Ida sat beside Jack and smiled when the woman stood and took another seat.

Then Sam sat next to Jack, bent over and opened her case. Encased in foam was a vial filled with amber-colored liquid, a syringe, and a small metallic chip.

She picked up the chip and handed it to Jack, pleased that her hand was steady. At least her inner turmoil hadn't affected her work.

"Stick this to your dog tags, sir. It's the visible tracking device."

Sam watched as Jack palmed it and looked it over. It was a thin metal wafer that would adhere quite easily to his dog tags.

One-handed, he unbuttoned his top button and loosened his tie, exposing his tanned neck. Then he pulled the chain attached to his dog tags out from under his shirt and clipped the disk to one of them where it stuck to the metal surface.

"Cool." He tapped it. "Shouldn't we take this out for a test-drive, kick the tires, or something?"

"In a minute, sir; I want to take care of this first."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Jack shrugged and tucked his dog-tags back under his shirt. "Suit yourself."

In the meantime, Sam had picked up the syringe, prepped it, and then turned to Jack.

"Make a fist, sir."

He did so and she tied rubber tubing around his upper arm and picked up the syringe and vial.

"Ack, you're not going to stick that in me, are you?" Jack's eyes were wide.

"Sir, it'll be just a little stick," she cajoled. And you will do this if you know what's good for you, she thought. I have a sneaky suspicion that you're going to need it, she reflected.

"What are you calling little?" He turned to Ida. "Look at the size of that thing."

"Do you need me to hold him down, Colonel?" Ida asked with a toothy smile that surprised Carter.

It was a relief to know she had someone who enjoyed – no needed – this teasing diversion as much as she did.

"No, I don't think I'll need your help, but I'll let you know," Carter smiled back with a smile just as sweet.

"Women coming at me with huge honkin' needles – power mongers – all of 'em," Jack muttered. "Just don't break my arm. I wouldn't want you to splint it."

"Are you sure you want to say that while I have this needle in my hand, sir?" cautioned Sam with a smug grin.

"Oh . . . just be careful – is that too much to ask?" Jack tensed, the muscles in his arms corded.

"Ow," he complained as Sam inserted the needle into his vein.

"Just hold it a minute, sir, and I'll be finished," she instructed as she fit the vial onto the syringe and injected the contents.

Then she withdrew the needle and applied a Band-Aid to the injection site, "All done, sir."

Jack flexed his arm and peered suspiciously at the Band-Aid. "You couldn't find a different one?"

"The Infirmary was fresh out of Homer Band-Aids, sir."

"Ida? Make a note of that; requisition more Band-Aids for the SGC. Nothing's too good for our men," he paused and noted the glare from two pairs of feminine eyes, "And women in uniform."

In the meantime, Sam had taken a phone out of her pocket and showed it to the President.

"I'm going to contact the Prometheus, Mister President."

"Go ahead, Samantha," agreed Hayes

She nodded, pressed a button, and put it to her ear. After a short pause, her call was answered.

"Stargate Command control room."

"Walter, is that you?" She paused.

"Affirmative, is this Colonel Carter?"

"Yes, put me through to the Prometheus." She held the phone away from her mouth and spoke to the people with her. "They're connecting me now."

She winced at the sudden burst of static and then heard a garbled voice. "Is this the Prometheus – over?"

She recognized the voice of Colonel Pendergast. "Yes, this is the Prometheus. Is that you, Carter – over?"

"Yes, this is Carter. Operation Homer is a go. I say again, Operation Homer is a go. Do you copy – over?"

"I copy that. Has the device been activated – over?"

"Yes, it has been activated. Are you getting a reading – over?"

"Roger that, we are reading the target in the Washington D.C. area . . . is it at your location – over?"

She nodded her head. "Yes, he's standing right next to me. Maintain surveillance until further notification – Carter – out."

"Prometheus – out," answered Pendergast.

"Homer?" Jack mouthed.

Sam smiled innocently. "I wasn't the one who picked it, but it did seem to fit . . ."

She tucked the phone into a pocket and turned to the President; it was time to ask some questions. "I'd like some answers, Mister President. How do you know that General O'Neill needs to be tracked?"

Hayes had the grace to look uncomfortable. "We have it on good authority that an attempt will be made to kidnap Jack once again. We're merely taking precautionary measures so that – should this happen – we have the means to track him down and effect a rescue as quickly as possible."

Jack looked tired as he waved his hands. "Mister President? Cut the bull – permission to explain this to Carter? She's a big girl and deserves a better answer than that."

"Need to know, Jack," answered Hayes.

"Well, I say she needs to know. Like it or not, you already involved her when she was hauled out of the SGC – at your order – so like it or not, she earned it."

Sam watched as Jack made his point, he seemed angry and his words confirmed her worst fears.

General Hammond cleared his throat. "Jack has a point, Mister President. Samantha is already involved and deserves an explanation – especially since this plan directly impacts her private life. It would be one thing if she didn't have a high enough security clearance – but that's not the case here."

Sam watched the interplay with interest. When General Hammond mentioned her private life, she blushed, her neck and cheeks reddened. It was true though, and they'd kept it 'in the room' for so many years.

They'd waited until they could explore their feelings for each other without breaking the rules of fraternization. Both had agreed that they couldn't afford to let their growing feelings for each other affect their mission; too much was at stake. Now that Jack was no longer in her direct chain of command her superiors had given their unofficial okay.

Still, it was a bit embarrassing to hear General Hammond talk about their relationship so openly – old habits died hard and she'd grown used to denying that they had any feelings at all. Now though –she wanted to make up for lost time and believed that Jack did too.

Sam looked at Jack, his face was hard and he looked tense. Her hand found his and their fingers intertwined. She squeezed his hand and then patted it with her free one.

Hayes shrugged. "Go ahead then."

Sam released her pent-up breath. "Thank you, Mister President." She looked into Jack's brown eyes; they looked cold and that scared her. She'd seen him like this before and knew what it meant – he was preparing himself for something he didn't want to do.

Jack and Hammond exchanged glances, "Do you want me to tell her?"

O'Neill shrugged and ducked his head. "If you don't mind – this wasn't exactly my idea."

Hammond nodded and began. "Tonight, we realized that Baal would attempt to recapture Jack because of the Ancient gene he carries. Since Jack pointed out that Baal could find him no matter where we hid him, we came to the realization that we had no choice but to initiate a plan of our own to safeguard him. That's where you – or rather your skills with the tracking device – came in."

"That's why you needed the tracking device so that if Baal caught Jack, you would know where he was?" Sam nodded, it made sense.

Hammond nodded. "Exactly, then we'll move in and eliminate the threat Baal poses to not only Jack, but to our planet."

"So why does Jack look so worried? What aren't you telling me?" Sam watched through narrowed eyes and squeezed Jack's hand.

"We believe that Baal wants Jack's DNA so he can integrate it into a clone's genetic structure. Once he does that, he could operate any Ancient device he got his hands on. The only way he can do that is if he has a donor – willing or not."

Sam and Jack's eyes met. "And that would be me, Sam," Jack whispered.

Her eyes widened. "And you're okay with this?"

He shrugged, "Not exactly, but there doesn't seem to be any other choice."

"Can't Thor do something – take you someplace safe until we take care of Baal?"

Jack eased his hand from hers, leaving her feeling bereft. "What would you have me do, Sam? Run away and hide?" He looked away from her. "I thought you knew me better than that."

She touched his shoulder to get his attention. "But you've already given so much. Don't you deserve to have a life?" She paused. "Don't we? Now that I've found you, I don't want to lose you – and what we have. Is that so wrong?"

"Do you need some time alone?" Hayes asked.

Sam jumped; she'd become so involved with her feelings that she'd forgotten where she was. Holy Hannah – that was a first.

"If you don't mind?" Jack said.

"I believe I could use a breath of fresh air, what about the rest of you?" Hayes grinned.

They all nodded, stood and then followed the President out the door. When it closed, Jack turned to Sam.

"This isn't what I planned at all, Sam. I hope you know that."

"So you were conned into it?"

Jack cocked his head and waggled his hand back and forth. "Well, let's just say that the President laid out my options, and this seemed like the best way to go – actually, the only way." He huffed out a sigh. "I'm sorry."

She clenched her fists and hit her thigh with them. "But what about us? I'm tired of putting our lives on hold."

"I don't know. But do you really believe we can just wish away this threat? I know better than that – and so do you." He reached for her hand and enclosed it in his. "Besides, we'll have tonight."

"But. . . I want more than that," Sam whispered, her blue eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Jack reached up and thumbed away the moisture that threatened to leak from her eyes.

"So do I – and we will – just not right away." He smiled. "Besides, if you think I'd let anybody, including that Hair-Baal get in the way of you and me . . . " He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and patted her hand. "It'll work out, you'll see."

"I'll hold you to that, General Jonathan O'Neill," murmured Sam as she leaned forward to kiss Jack. Their lips brushed and it ignited a tingle in her groin.

"Mmm," Jack agreed as he nibbled her lips, "Yeah sureyabetcha, Colonel Carter."

They drew apart. Sam's hungry eyes memorized every detail of his face – for later.

Jack huffed. "Whew, is it hot in here?" He wiped his forehead with his hand. "Or is it just me?"

"I think it's you – or rather – us." Sam straightened her blouse and pulled down her skirt where it'd hitched upward on her thighs.

He reached for her hand and held it between his own. "We'll have tonight, Sam. I promise."

"You'll be careful?" Sam's breath hitched in her throat.

"Of course, Slime-Baal will never know what hit him." He smirked. "Shall we let the President know that it's safe for him to come back into his office?"

"I suppose," Sam sighed and nibbled her lip. "You'll hold him to tonight?"

"Oh, yeah," Jack breathed.

Then he got up, went to the door, and opened it. "It's safe to come in now, Mister President." He grinned, "But we do have a request."

xXx

Baal snarled as he closed the communication link with his contact at Area-51. He'd been given bad news – at the best of times he did not deal well with failure – this was not the best of times. Thus far his schedule for the conquest of the Tau'ri home world had met one setback after another.

He ground his teeth together. "Fool!"

Thinking himself alone, someone touched his shoulder. "Who would dare?" He snarled and captured the unknown hand in his fist.

The owner of the hand squealed in outrage. "You forget yourself," Anat warned.

Baal's eyes widened and flashed as he turned toward the voice. "It is you who forget, my pet," he purred like a lion crouched over its kill. "While it is true that you are my queen. . ."

Anat pouted and walked her fingers up his shoulder and then to his jaw line where she traced it with one forefinger. "I grow tired of this world. It is – lacking in – proper entertainment." She moved to his side, her walk exaggerated her ample hips. "You received bad news?"

"Yes, our spies inform me that the Tau'ri are even more backward than I first thought. They have made no progress in the duplication of the Ancient gene." He paused and growled low in his throat, "The Trust swore they had achieved this – apparently they are as unreliable as I had feared; their only true value is as hosts for our race."

"And our own scientists?"

"Their efforts have been – disappointing."

"Perhaps our scientists are not truly – motivated?" Her tongue traced her upper lip and then disappeared inside her mouth. Baal's eyes followed her movements hungrily.

"And you would provide this – motivation?"

Baal drew her hand to his lips and studied her face. He had been witness to the depravities she'd visited upon his minions. It had been most – impressive and instructive – proof that she was a queen that matched his own tastes.

Anat licked her lips in anticipation. "It would be my pleasure."

"Then it is agreed. First we obtain our – test subject. Then we shall depart this world for one that better suits our – appetites."

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

xXx

Jack propped himself up on one elbow, the better to observe the sleeping woman laid beside him in his bed. Sam's face was relaxed, lips slightly parted in a gentle snore. Her blonde hair was mussed, delightfully so, and he swept a wayward strand out of her eyes. The room was in shadow, the glow from the master bath shedding its meager light into the room.

He sighed softly and eased out of bed, careful to avoid waking Sam. Just because he had to pee didn't mean she should lose anymore sleep than she had too. God knew she probably would be worried sick about him when . . .

Jack ruthlessly quashed that thought, time enough to worry about that scenario when – not if – it happened. While with the President, he'd downplayed the likelihood of Baal coming for him right away, but deep down, he knew the Goa'uld couldn't afford to wait long to make his move against him. Not with a bunch of Baal clones to keep in line.

O'Neill's demand that he be allowed to spend some time alone with Sam wasn't met with much resistance. But then, he hadn't really been surprised; after all, the President of the United States had virtually ordered him to play clay pigeon to one of Jack's own – and his worlds – worst nightmares. The Hayes owed him – big time – and he'd made no bones about it.

Bribe him with a little R&R? Not a problem – though this gave a whole new meaning to the condemned man's last meal.

He grinned wolfishly. They'd made love, franticly shedding their clothing as soon as the door to his townhouse was closed and locked – as if they recognized it would be a long while till the next time – probably because it would.

Dodging the clothing strewn like landmines on the floor, he padded into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. His bladder was so full his eyes were turning yellow. He'd take care of that 'pressing matter' first – then he'd rinse off in the shower.

To the tinkling sound of liquid streaming into the toilet bowl, he considered his options. To say that he was worried was an understatement. He had Sam – and her safety – to consider and had the sinking feeling that time was running out.

Quite frankly it scared the pee out of him – he smirked at his pun – and resolved to manufacture a way to use that one in the future. It would play even better with Teal'c as his straight-man.

Now for a quick shower, the first he'd had in his own bathroom in over a week. He turned on the water, satisfied that he knew ahead of time just how far to turn the faucet so the water's temperature would be just right. That was the beauty of using your own stuff; you knew how it would turn out because you'd worked it out ahead of time.

It was times like this that he thanked his lucky stars that he'd invested in a larger hot water heater. After a stressful day at work, he needed all the help he could get to relax. If this past week hadn't been nerve-racking – then he'd like to know what was.

He stepped inside the shower, closed the door, and stood there; eyes closed and face up-turned as the water peppered his skin, cascaded in rivulets down his stomach and legs.

Then Jack opened his mouth; water spattered his features, filled his mouth and trickled down his chin. He puckered, swished, and then leaned over and spat. His expectorant hit the water and swirled into the drain near his feet.

With his palms flat against the tiles, he leaned forward and let the water knead his back and neck. Each muscle in his body gradually relaxed as the hot water and steam did their magic. Only then did he pick up the soap and lather up the washcloth.

While his hands automatically scrubbed his body, his mind returned to the safety issue. He would send Sam away in the morning; much as he wanted her with him, it was simply too dangerous. They should be safe for now – but later? That was another story.

Since the President had posted a guard outside in a van parked on the street Jack figured they could risk being together tonight. Both Hammond and Hayes had wanted a guard in his townhouse with him, but he'd flat-out put his foot down and vetoed the idea. They needed their privacy after all – and there was his promise to Sam.

A knock on the shower door startled him and his soap slipped between his fingers, ricocheted off the tiles to land in a corner of the shower with a plop.

"Jack?"

The voice was muffled by the water, but it wasn't too hard to figure out who it belonged to. He doubted that Baal or his goons would bother knocking on his shower door and there was only one other person in his house – Sam. As for his guard, they were outside – or had better be.

"Sam?"

Her face appeared when she wiped a round spot onto the fogged glass door. "You want company?"

"Ya think?" He smirked.

When she hesitated, he opened the door for her. "Come on in, the water's great."

Sam smiled and joined him; Jack enjoyed the view as she joined him and shut the door behind her. He moved to the side so she could stand under the water where it spattered off the top of her head and trickled down the tiles. As he watched, she licked droplets off her upper lip. Jack blinked the water out of his eyes and opened his arms; an invitation to come closer.

"Did I wake you?" He asked.

His chin dripped as Jack wiped the droplets of water away from her eyes. He thought she'd never looked better; her wet skin glistened in the soft light and her dog tags nestled in the vee of her breasts.

"No, but I woke up and you were gone, I . . ." She stopped and wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him – hard.

"Oh, sorry, I guess I didn't think." His fingers linked in the middle of her back and he nuzzled the side of her neck.

"It's okay. When I heard the shower, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where you were."

"Even though you are one?"

She giggled into his chest and pinched him on the butt, "Silly."

"No, giggling, Carter," he murmured.

Sam was silent and laid her head against his chest as the water flowed over both of them.

"Jack?" she murmured into his chest, his skin prickled where her finger traced a circle around his dog tags.

"What?"

"I'm scared."

"I know, honey, so am I," he murmured into her neck and rubbed her back; the sound of her beating heart loud in the confines of the shower stall.

With the falling water drenching their bodies, they stood, wrapped in each other's arms until their close proximity aroused him.

"Is that your sidearm, Jack?" she teased.

"Um, hmm – 9 mil." He smirked down at her up-turned face, "And it's locked and loaded."

He kissed her and her lips parted, inviting him inside. Their tongues tangled, and he withdrew. With closed eyes, she moaned as her hands roamed his lean body. He shivered with delight when her hands traced his spine from his hips all the way up to his neck.

"Why don't we take this elsewhere?" Jack kissed her parted lips. "My knees and back can't handle a tango for two in here – and I want you."

Sam panted her agreement.

They left the shower, arm-in-arm and made love on the bed. This time it was slow and tender – both of them wanting to satisfy the other.

Afterward, sated, their limbs entwined, they fell into an exhausted sleep.

Back in the shower, the bar of soap, much smaller now, its surface mottled with dried bubbles, lay in the corner of the shower stall, forgotten.

xXx

Five figures stood in the room when the flash of white light faded. Four wore Baal's brand on their foreheads; the other wore no brand and looked to be Baal himself – but was instead his clone.

"Find him," he directed softly. The Jaffa obeyed and spread out to the other rooms to search for their prey.

At the entrance to one, the Jaffa paused and then motioned for silence. He beckoned to the clone.

"He is here, my lord," he whispered.

The sound of rustling bedding could be heard. Baal crept to the Jaffa's side. The Jaffa drew his zat and slipped into the chamber. The others followed.

The sound of a scuffle was interrupted by the sound of a zat discharge – once then twice.

"Fool!" cursed Baal's clone as he shouldered into the room past the Jaffa gathered at the door. "He was to be taken alive."

"He was not alone, my lord."

The clone surveyed the two naked bodies, a male curled up on the floor and a female still in bed, half-hidden by the sheets. He recognized both immediately and the scent that wafted from each of the nude bodies told him more than words could. This day luck had smiled upon him.

"The Tau'ri O'Neill and his mate, Carter," he chuckled and stroked his goatee. "This is even better."

"Ack, don't you," O'Neill gasped and shook his head as if to clear it, "believe in knocking?"

The clone chuckled, low in his throat and his eyes flashed.

"Carter?" The Tau'ri ground out between clenched teeth as he brought his knees up to his chest.

"Sir?" she panted and writhed on the bed.

O'Neill struggled to stand but collapsed again as his limbs twitched uncontrollably. "Hair-Baal," he spat and lunged toward the Jaffa and the clone. "Run."

He managed to take down two Jaffa in front of him, but was overpowered from behind.

"Bring them both," The Goa'uld ordered.

"No, you don't need her," The male Tau'ri argued as two Jaffa grabbed his wind milling arms. "She's not important."

The Tau'ri continued to struggle, but a cuff to his jaw whipped his head around and ended his fight. He slumped between them – unconscious – as they hoisted him to his feet, his head lolled to one side.

"No!" Carter screamed sprang toward the Jaffa, her teeth bared in a snarl.

A slap to her face propelled her back onto the bed where she sprawled on her side, insensible. For a moment, Baal's clone observed her as she lay entangled in the blue sheets, her blonde hair half-obscured her pale face. A reddened spot marked where she'd been struck and marred what otherwise would have been a complexion without blemish.

The clone reached down and grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger – turning it from one side to another. While she could not compete with the beauty of the Goa'uld queen, Anat, she was an excellent female specimen.

Though the clone was not privy to all of Baal's plans for the Tau'ri O'Neill, he knew that his master would not be pleased if he missed the chance to obtain another test subject for his scientists.

This unexpected find would elevate him above the others in his master's sight. Such was the competition between him and his brother clones that each opportunity for advancement was grasped as would be any prize beyond measure. The Tau'ri Carter was such a prize.

"My lord?"

"Yes, she will do nicely."

Confident that his Jaffa would deal with the prisoners, the clone stepped back from the bed and surveyed the bedroom.

"This should do."

The Jaffa wrapped Carter in a sheet and hoisted her across one shoulder; her head and arms dangled limply against his back. O'Neill sagged between two other Jaffa.

The Jaffa with their two captives encircled the clone who then pressed a band on his wrist. They left the same way they'd come, in a flash of white light. Baal's clone was satisfied; the entire process had taken place within the allotted time.

xXx

Seconds later, the front door to Jack's townhouse burst inward. Several black-clad SF's, the butts of their P-90's braced between their flak vests and their arms, rushed into the room. The flashlights mounted on the shortened barrels formed tiny circles that ranged around the room and illuminated the walls, floors, and furnishings.

With hand signals, the leader directed them to search the entire townhouse. By ones and twos, they scattered to investigate the adjoining rooms; then, each team rendezvoused at the front door.

"Report," ordered the leader.

"No one was found, sir."

"No one?"

He scrutinized the faces of each member of his squad. They shook their heads.

The SF keyed his mike and it crackled to life. "This is Blue Leader, target's home was searched and the cupboard was bare, I repeat, the cupboard was bare – do you copy?"

"Blue leader – we copy – out."

He turned to his squad and motioned, "Harris and Burns – guard the front door until the lab folks can go over the place." The indicated soldiers nodded. "The rest of you – move out. Debrief in fifteen minutes."

xXx

President Hayes rolled over when he felt someone touch his shoulder. He grunted with frustration and tried to elude it. He'd just gotten to sleep and was having a wonderful dream about – of all things – fishing – just him and a lake full of fish. No secret service agents, no reporters – just him and his pole.

"Mister President?" The hand shook him again and he recognized the voice of his aide.

"I'm awake, what is it?" he grumbled.

He opened his eyes and knuckled the sleep from them. Now he knew why his predecessors all ended up with premature gray hair and wrinkles out the wah-zoo. They never got enough uninterrupted sleep. Not for the first time, he wondered what he'd been thinking when he'd fought so hard for this job.

"You have an urgent phone call from General Landry, Mister President."

Wide-awake now, he rolled over and sat up. "Landry? What does he want in the middle of the night?"

"I don't know, Mister President. Do you want some coffee?"

"Might as well, it doesn't look like I'll be getting back to sleep."

He picked up the phone and held it to his ear. "Hank, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"I'm afraid I do, Mister President. I'm sorry that I woke you, but this couldn't wait till morning. I was just informed by the Prometheus that Jack was beamed onboard an orbiting al-kesh a few minutes ago. The men assigned to protect him confirmed that he was nowhere to be found in his home and reported seeing two bright flashes of light."

"So soon? Damn, I was hoping . . ."

He waved to his aide who had just wheeled in a cart holding the coffee service and put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Put it over there, John, and I'll get to it in a second."

Then he removed his hand from the mouthpiece. "Thank goodness we installed that homing device when we did – at least we can track him."

"That's not all, Mister President," Hank added. "Jack wasn't alone."

"What do you mean?"

"According to the surveillance team, Carter is missing too. Evidently he took them both. The Prometheus said the al-kesh made the jump to hyperspace soon after they were beamed aboard."

"Is the Prometheus tracking him?"

"No, they lost the signal when the ship entered the hyperspace window. But we've contacted Thor. His ship, the Daniel Jackson, is supposed to be in the area."

"Dammit! I knew I should've insisted on a guard inside his house." Hayes finger-combed his hair and grimaced, "Why didn't we consider the possibility that Baal might take Jack off-world?"

"We thought Baal would stay on our world, Mister President," Hank paused, "Obviously, we were wrong."

"So, we lost them?"

"Yes, Mister President."

"Let me know as soon as you hear from the Asgard."

"I'll do that, Mister President."

Henry pressed more buttons on the phone, "Get me Jumper on the phone and if you see my aide, get me some more coffee. It's going to be a long night."


	5. Chapter 5

xXx

Flanked by a guard of four Kull Warriors, Baal shaded his eyes with his hand as his search party materialized in the room. Because of the increased tensions between his clones as they jockeyed for power, he trusted no other to ensure his personal safety. It had been a simple matter to imprint the command into their brains that the Warriors obey his orders only. Not even his beloved queen, Anat, could circumvent this imperative.

Experimentation had shown Baal that the Kull Warriors could easily differentiate between himself and his clones by means of their heightened senses. With this mission in particular he could not afford the very real chance that a clone or even his queen, Anat, might attempt to depose him – or copy his efforts. The power of the Ancients was something that they would risk everything to gain – and once Baal had it within his grasp – he did not intend to share.

He surveyed the group assembled in front of him; between the clone and his Jaffa, they were all present and did not appear to have suffered any damage. Not that he would have been concerned if any had come to harm. Such was the price his minions paid for the honor of serving their god. In any case, any damage would have been easily repaired by the symbiote all loyal Jaffa carried. As for any unforeseen deaths, if they were careless enough to be killed by the pitiful Tau'ri – they deserved to die.

Already he could discern that the naked O'Neill was a captive – the Tau'ri's face and body were burned upon his memory as none other could be – but one Jaffa carried a bundled up form on his shoulders.

His clone stepped forward with what looked to be a smile of triumph on his face. Baal immediately became wary of the confidence that radiated from his face.

"We were successful, my lord," the clone bowed his head, to all appearances his loyal subject.

"But you brought two?" Baal cocked his head in question and held up two fingers.

"Yes, my lord. We found the Tau'ri O'Neill as you ordered," The clone smiled.

Baal frowned; the clone was entirely too smug, a dangerous thing in an underling. The black-clad warriors at his side shifted – no doubt they had picked up on his own tension. For now he would do nothing – continue his role of the trusting innocent – until he had the information he needed. Then the clone would be disposed of.

"And the other?"

"His . . . mate, the Tau'ri Carter."

"You are certain of this?" Baal's shaped eyebrows knitted together in question. "That O'Neill took her as his mate?"

"The . . . evidence left no doubt of it, my lord."

Baal nodded and gestured to the Jaffa who held O'Neill. "Bring him closer."

With their hands under his armpits, the two Jaffa dragged the unconscious Tau'ri forward. Baal wrapped his fingers in O'Neill's hair and peered at the up-turned face of the man who'd had the effrontery to mock him in the past.

At long last O'Neill was his to do with as he chose. The thought was exhilarating, and he cautioned himself from losing control too soon. There would be time enough in the future to recoup the previous insults.

"Excellent," he released his hold on the Tau'ri's hair. O'Neill's head bobbed downward as a moan escaped his slack lips.

Baal pursed his lips in concern; that signaled an eminent return to consciousness – something he wanted to avoid at all costs. From past experience he knew that a conscious O'Neill could pose a threat to his plans.

The Goa'uld summoned the other Jaffa who was laden with a sheet-wrapped figure slung across his broad shoulders.

"Reveal her to me," ordered Baal.

"Yes, my lord, Baal," agreed the Jaffa who turned around; the dangling hands bounced against his armored back.

Baal lifted the sheet and gazed at the face of the female he had been forced to work with years ago in their efforts to destroy the Replicators – the female Tau'ri – Carter.

"Yes, this is a prize," Baal purred. He dropped the sheet so that it once again concealed the identity of the figure within.

"You did well," Baal smiled at the waiting clone. "You will leave them here."

"My lord?" The clone stiffened.

"You will receive your reward," Baal assured him as he stroked his goatee. "One that is most . . . suited to your accomplishments."

The clone narrowed his eyes and shrugged; the Jaffa dropped the two Tau'ri onto the floor. O'Neill sprawled face turned to one side and groaned while the female was silent. The sound firmed Baal's resolve to settle the problem with his clone as quickly as possible. He had other matters of importance that needed his attention if he were to be successful in his bid to gain the power of the Ancients.

He nodded to the warriors at his side; they reacted instantly and as one they rained bolts of pure energy onto those in front of him from their raised arms. The Jaffa collapsed to the floor immediately, the clone soon followed. As Baal watched, its eyes glowed and then flickered out, leaving behind sightless eyes in a face that mirrored his own.

Baal smiled; a potential problem had been eradicated by the clone's death. Now only he and his warriors would have contact with the captive Tau'ri.

He indicated the dead bodies on the floor, "Dispose of these in the usual manner after you have placed the Tau'ri in separate cells," he paused and then continued, "Remove the female immediately. Take care that she is not harmed. The male will remain here with me."

It would better suit his purpose if the female were absent as it would add to the male's suffering if he did not know her condition or whereabouts. Anything that added to the mental and physical torture of O'Neill would only enhance Baal's efforts to subdue him – and the pleasure the Goa'uld gained from the process.

The Warriors nodded, and split into pairs to take the captives in hand; each pair hoisted their chosen captive under their arms. The two with Carter dragged her out of the room. Baal turned his attention to the male Tau'ri.

O'Neill groaned and he lifted his head. Baal stepped in front of the Warriors; he wanted to ensure that the Tau'ri saw him only. His fingers closed around the man's chin and turned it from side to side, examining him for alertness. From the glazed look in his eyes, he could tell that O'Neill could not yet focus clearly.

"Baal?" O'Neill mumbled, his words slurred.

"Your master, foolish Tau'ri."

O'Neill blinked his eyes and squinted, as if to better concentrate on the face in front of him.

"Slime-Baal," he muttered.

Baal tightened his grip on O'Neill's chin and the man grimaced.

"Carter?" he mumbled around the grip Baal had on his jaw.

"Is not your concern."

"Yes, she is," the man jerked his chin out of the Goa'uld's grasp and tried to stand, but his feet could not seem to bear his weight. "Where is she?"

"You are mine to do with as I wish," the Goa'uld snarled, "Bow before your god, foolish Tau'ri."

"No," O'Neill muttered and shook his head as if to clear it.

The Goa'uld noticed the tags that dangled from a chain around the human's neck. "What are these?" He asked as he picked them up.

O'Neill glared and said nothing.

The Goa'uld yanked them loose and peered at the incised writing on the two tags. "O'Neill, Jonathon J.?" He read and then looked at the man with a smile, "Symbols of a life you no longer lead."

Baal closed his fist around them and they pinged under the pressure. He smiled, opened his fist and let the crushed metal ball drop to the floor.

"You have no use for them now."

"Destruction of Air Force property is against regulations." O'Neill tried to shrug out of the grasp of the Warriors who stood on either side. "You gonna get me new ones?"

"Insolent fool!"

Baal's eyes glowed as he raised his hand device and its red jewel pulsated; then a golden beam shot from his palm to center on O'Neill's forehead. The Tau'ri moaned and his eyes grew unfocused. When the light vanished, he slumped forward, unconscious.

"Secure him in his cell."

The Goa'uld watched as his warriors dragged him away. Now that the troublesome Tau'ri was safely unconscious, he could concentrate his energies where they were needed.

xXx

To say that Thor was upset would be an understatement. The message from Stargate Command that informed him of O'Neill's and Colonel Carter's capture by Baal had taken him by surprise. If it had been O'Neill alone – that he would have expected – but Carter too? Fortunately, he was in the position to do something about it.

However, he had other business to conduct first – a holographic visit to the human he had entrusted with O'Neill's safety – President Henry Hayes.

The Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet fingered the controls on his command chair and watched as the image of Hayes appeared in front of him. Though he seemed appeared startled, he seemed to recover quickly.

"Thor? I figured I'd be hearing from you."

The man smiled and sipped from his cup. Knowing the humans as he did, Thor surmised it was coffee – a beverage to which many, including his friend, O'Neill – were addicted. Though he had sampled it – at O'Neill's insistence – its bitter taste left him wondering why others seemed to enjoy it so much.

"Then you know the reason for my concern."

"Baal's capture of Jack O'Neill and Samantha Carter," Hayes was prompt in his reply.

At least the human did not mince words. Thor would have abhorred that.

"Yes, and you are the one I entrusted with O'Neill's safety." Thor blinked and pointed one digit at the man, "Did you not assure me that steps would be taken?"

Hayes squirmed in his seat and sat down his cup. "Yes, I did, Thor. I seem to have screwed that up, haven't I?"

Thor nodded. "Yes, you have. Have you nothing else to say?"

Thor stared at the human in front of him. His words reminded him of O'Neill and his heart lurched in his chest as his concern for his absent friend grew, as did his anger toward Hayes.

As Thor's vessel continued to accelerate away from Earth, the image of Hayes flickered, "I could give you a whole bunch of excuses, but that won't get Jack back," the human sighed and moved around the cup on the saucer. "We implanted him with a radioactive isotope to enable us to track him anywhere on Earth," he paused. "What we didn't take into account was Baal taking him off world or that he would strike so quickly. We – no – I, should have taken those factors into account. I didn't and now Jack and Samantha are paying the price for my mistake."

The human looked down and then straight at Thor. "Can you help us?"

At his words, some of Thor's anger subsided; he was very unlike Kinsey, whom the Asgard had grown to abhor.

"Yes. It is fortunate that I remained nearby. My equipment detected O'Neill's departure and even now provides me with the knowledge of his location." Thor paused and skewered the human with a glare. "I am very . . . displeased with your performance."

"I can't say as I blame you. I'm not happy with it either," Hayes admitted.

"It is well that you did not blame your subordinates for your failure. If you had, I would have been forced to take action that would not benefit you – or your world."

Hayes' eyes widened and his eyebrows rose to his hairline, a gesture that Thor had learned in his experience with humans meant surprise or fear.

"Okay, if you're pissed at me – go ahead and bawl me out," Hayes gestured with his hand, "Or whatever you want . . . it's not as if I could stop you anyway. Just don't take it out on my people – or my world. The important thing right now is to get him away from that Goa'uld before it's too late."

"Too late?" Thor leaned forward in his chair. "What are you not telling me?"

Hayes blew out a breath and leaned forward in his chair. "We believe Baal plans to use Jack's DNA to gain access to the Ancients gene."

"It would be . . . unfortunate if Baal were able to accomplish this," Thor paused. "Is O'Neill aware of this?"

"Yes, he is. That's why we met with him last night in my office – and why we implanted him with a way to monitor his whereabouts. We'd come to the conclusion that Baal could find him no matter where he was hidden. Jack was quite forceful when he made that point. In fact at one point he insisted that we contact you so in the hopes that you could remove this gene from his body."

Hayes sighed and shook his head, "We told him that wasn't possible," he paused. "Is it?"

"No, it is not. Nor would we agree to such a thing."

Hayes nodded. "That's pretty much what we told him. I'm pretty sure that Jack understands that, much as he dislikes it, he is a man of honor and knows it is his duty to use his unique abilities to protect his world."

"I wish you had contacted me earlier," Thor admitted with a sigh. "I might have found a solution and avoided this latest problem. Perhaps I could have transported him up to the Daniel Jackson, or at least talked to him."

"You, of all . . . people, should know how much Jack hates being penned up, Thor. In fact, he became quite upset when he thought Colonel Carter wanted him to 'run away and hide'," Hayes hooked quotes around the last words with his fingers.

"Yes, that has been both strength and a weakness to O'Neill's character."

"We believe that Carter's abduction was more of an accident. Since she was there when they seized Jack, they took her too."

"Why was Colonel Carter allowed to remain with O'Neill unguarded? Were you not aware of the possible danger?"

Hayes grimaced and crossed his legs, "That was a sore spot with Jack. I wanted a guard present with him at all times, but he wouldn't hear of it. He wanted some private time with Carter. Hindsight being what it is – I know now that I should've had one posted there anyway."

"Throughout my acquaintance with O'Neill, I have learned that he can be irrational when it comes to his own importance and safety."

"You can say that again," Hayes nodded.

Thor cocked his head, "You wish me to repeat myself?"

"No, it's a metaphor," the human smiled.

"I see," Thor blinked and added it to his growing file of irrational human forms of speech. O'Neill had been quite instructive in this area.

"It is at times like these that I am thankful that we use cloning to reproduce. It is a more –rational method than yours."

Hayes snorted, "Thanks anyway, but we're happy with things the way they are."

"I see," Thor had expected that answer. Humans were notoriously irrational when it came to that subject.

"What will you do when you've rescued them?"

"I confess I do not know, Hayes. It will depend upon their condition – both physical and mental. However, I will inform you of my findings."

"Thank you, Thor. I can't ask for any more than that," Hayes said. The welcoming smile was gone; worry had taken its place.

Thor severed the connection. He had a job to tend to and needed no further distractions. He was glad now that he had the foresight to implant a tracking device within O'Neill. Though he had allowed the humans to supervise the security for his friend, he had maintained an unobtrusive watch.

His ship's sensors had shown him that a second human had been taken aboard Baal's vessel along with O'Neill but he had not known the identity until Stargate Command had informed him of Colonel Carter's absence. Unfortunately, he had not been able to mount an immediate rescue before the Goa'uld al-kesh had left orbit as he had not been aware of the vessel's presence. While the vessel maintained its shields at full capacity, he was not able to use his transporter either.

As for the news of Baal's plan to gain access to the power of the Ancients through O'Neill's genetic material, that was a concern. The Asgard's previous intervention that made it impossible to successfully clone his human friend was proving advantageous.

Thor consulted the locator beacon that indicated O'Neill's position and extrapolated a possible destination. If Baal's ship maintained present speed and course . . . he would arrive at Tartarus in two days.

Thor's fingers punched in a query about that world and watched as the information appeared on his monitor. He blinked slowly, according to this, it was highly probable that this world was Baal's destination because of its laboratory facilities – a leftover from Anubis and his Kull Warrior constructs.

The sensors arrayed around the planet would make it difficult to approach without detection – difficult but not impossible.

xXx

"I wish to view the Tau'ri," Anat pouted and crossed her shapely legs.

She thrust her chest forward, a move calculated to accent her breasts that threatened to spill from her skimpy gown. Since their al-kesh had rendezvoused with the mother ship, her mate, Baal, had resisted her attempts to inspect the captives. In fact he had been unusually secretive about them. She knew this must not continue for they were mated and thus must share – everything.

"Why?" Baal asked; as she had planned, his eyes were drawn in her direction and they widened with desire. "They are not worth your bother, my queen – while I can think of much better things to occupy our time," he leered and joined her on their bed.

She smiled and leaned into his body, "After I have inspected our captives, my pet." Her finger traced his jaw and ended at his mouth where she touched his lips.

Baal's mouth captured her finger, sucked on it and moaned, "Not now, my queen," his voice grew husky with his need.

"I wish it," Anat removed her finger from his mouth. "As you well know their pitiful bodies . . . excite me." Her tongue lingered on her upper lip and she leaned forward to nibble on Baal's ear.

"Truly?" he leaned forward to kiss her and she pulled away.

"First the captives – I do not wish to spoil my appetite for . . . finer things," she admonished with a sensuous smile.

"Of course, my queen," Baal huffed and stood, one hand grasped in hers as she rose from their bed.

She snuggled against him, her arm through his as they strolled toward the prison cells. "It is true that you captured O'Neill and a female?"

"Yes, it appears that the male Tau'ri has taken a mate; the female – Carter."

"I remember her," Anat nodded. "And you say O'Neill has taken her as his mate?"

"That is what the evidence suggests, though the male denies it."

They paused in front of the cell that housed the male; a Kull Warrior stood guard before the force field that shimmered across its door.

She peered inside and noted the male slumped on the floor with his hands and legs in shackles. "You need so much for one such as he?" She paused, "Is he that important to you?"

"He has proved . . . unusually cunning in the past, and I will not risk losing him simply because I lacked the foresight to take the necessary precautions," Baal explained with a smile as he covered her hand with his.

She pursed her lips and then reached for the button that would shut off the force field. "I wish to inspect your prize more closely."

Baal nodded, "As you wish."

Anat studied the interaction between her mate and the Warrior. She noted it had not relaxed its guard against all comers, her included, until Baal had nodded. So – the Warriors would prevent her from a private visit. That was useful information, but it distressed her that her chosen mate did not trust her with his plans.

She glided into the room and bent over the unconscious male Tau'ri. "He has no clothing?"

Baal shrugged, "He was found thus, and I deemed clothing . . . unnecessary for his purpose."

"He bears the scars of a warrior," she tapped her jaw with a finger and imagined what her capable hands could do to one such as he. "And the silver hair is unusual," she murmured softly, "But suits him."

"Do not be fooled, he is most dangerous," Baal spoke in a tone of reproach. "This Tau'ri is responsible for the deaths of many System Lords."

She continued to run her eyes possessively over the Tau'ri's naked body, memorizing the details of the lean and muscular male that lay curled on his side on the floor. The gentle rise and fall of his chest mesmerized her to the point where her hand reached out to touch him – then with an effort – she stopped and shivered with suppressed delight.

She looked up at Baal, "And your purpose for him?"

Baal looked uncomfortable, "I desire his seed for the powers of the Ancients."

"Yes, that is a purpose I can understand," she smiled and moved back to Baal's side, swaying her hips in a way that she knew would excite her mate. "Perhaps I could . . . obtain his seed for your use?"

"No, I will not share you with anyone, especially an inferior Tau'ri such as he," Baal's eyes flashed golden and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"And the power of the Ancients?" she asked as a test.

"I share all I have with you, my queen," Baal's lips curved in a smile.

"And this power of the Ancients is to be shared," she made the question a statement of her expectations. Though she did not yet trust him, she would make her expectations of him clear. In the meantime, he would bear watching.

"Of course, my queen," Baal embraced her and his mouth lingered on hers. "Let us retire, he sighed against her lips, "This talk has overtired me."

xXx


	6. Chapter 6

xXx

Samantha Carter awoke to a stinging pain in her abdomen and tried to squirm away from it. Its presence was a puzzle – she couldn't remember leaving anything on her bed that would cause such a thing. Sharp things like that had their place and it wasn't anywhere near her bed at home.

She moaned and tried to brush it away with her hand. "Quit," she muttered.

"The female is awakening," an unknown voice filtered into her consciousness.

She didn't recognize it – another part of the puzzle – but where did it fit?

"Hold her," the voice continued, "Just a minute more."

As the meaning of the words penetrated her awareness, her eyes shot open. "What?"

Her voice cracked and sounded feeble, even to her.

Sam blinked her eyes rapidly to clear her vision – all she could see was a black blur – squinting didn't improve the view much – still shades of black – and little else.

"She is awake, my lord."

This voice was different and reminded her of Darth Vader. Not that she'd gone to that kind of movie as a kid – they were hardly her idea of a good time, let alone descriptive of real life space travel. And if it didn't relate to her dream to become an astronaut, she then could have cared less.

Teal'c had developed a sick fascination for the Star Wars movies and she'd reluctantly agreed to watch them – one of the prices she paid for team unity and cohesion. Sam was proud of being on SG-1, and would do whatever it took to ensure that they functioned as a cohesive unit – even go the extra mile and watch Star Wars with Teal'c on team-bonding nights.

Admittedly her social skills were somewhat – lacking. As a teen, her nose had always been buried in some book – she'd been too driven to pay much attention to the usual things that most girls her age deemed important. Once she'd outgrown her astronaut doll, her entire being had revolved around her goal to become a female astronaut in the space program.

She yanked her attention back to the puzzle at hand, that side-trip down memory lane was a waste of time, especially when she had a problem to solve. Her mind automatically made that intuitive leap that allowed her to find a solution to the puzzle. Darth Vader sounded – and looked – like the super soldiers that Anubis had created.

This information acted like a bucket of cold water and brought her fully aware. She lifted her head and came face to face with the helmet of the Kull Warrior whose hands pressed her shoulders onto the floor. That explained why she couldn't move. She laid her head back down and tried to remember how she had ended up like this, but drew a blank.

"What's going on?"

Her voice sounded stronger, and she mentally congratulated herself for that. Being a female in the military meant she was at a disadvantage from the beginning. Discrimination wasn't supposed to happen anymore, but that didn't mean it didn't.

"I'm finished," announced the same male voice.

When the speaker stepped into her field of vision, she scrutinized him for a clue as to what was happening to her. He held a syringe in one hand and wore latex gloves.

"Leave her."

That voice was different and she recognized its source. The deepened timbre was a characteristic of the Goa'uld.

The Kull Warrior stepped back and then walked out of her field of vision. Freed from the pressure on her shoulders, she levered herself onto her elbows so she could get a better look at her surroundings.

Her eyes followed the Warrior as he left the room – and found the Goa'uld who must have spoken to her – Baal.

His eyes flashed and he chuckled. "At last you awaken, female."

She tried to get to her feet but a stabbing sensation in her abdomen doubled her over. "What did you do to me?" she gasped over the pain.

"Are you familiar with the cloning process?"

She bit her lip and tried to think – anything to get her mind off the pain. "Yes, but what does that have to do with me?"

"The cloning process requires an egg."

Her eyes widened. "You plan to use mine?" her voice squeaked and she damned herself for it.

"Yes. It was fortunate that you were with your mate, O'Neill, as the previous – donor – proved to be . . . uncooperative."

Her memories were triggered by his words – a montage of images flooded her brain – meeting Jack in the Oval Office, injecting him with the isotope, and the night spent in his arms. Then she remembered the sudden interruption by the Jaffa.

"Where is General O'Neill?" she forced herself to her feet and staggered to the door that shimmered with a force field. "What have you done to him?"

"He is not your concern."

"Yes he is," she straightened and leaned as close to the force field as she dared, "Where is he?"

He laughed. "So it is true that you have feelings for your mate."

"He is not my mate," she spat the words. "We're friends – co-workers – that's all."

"You deny that O'Neill is your mate? Why?"

Sam hugged her mid-section and staggered backwards with the pain. "What did you do to me?"

"You were given hormones to stimulate the production of eggs. This is your sole purpose for living. You would do well to remember this, female." Baal's lips curled with disdain as if her gender disgusted him.

Her eyes welled with tears and she bit her lip hard to distract herself – holy Hannah – hormone injections – that explained the tears and the painful abdomen.

"Your eggs will be extracted once we arrive at our destination."

"And where would that be?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Tartarus."

He paused and tilted his head to one side. Her mind went into overdrive as she searched for that name. It sounded familiar . . . and was somehow linked with the Kull Warriors and . . . her Dad.

"Tartarus?" she nodded as her mind supplied her with the answer, "Of course, you've taken over the laboratories there."

"Very good for a mere female."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her hair and her fists rested on her hips. "Mere female? Why you pompous, arrogant over-dressed poor excuse for a misogynist male chauvinist pig; don't you know that attitude is so out of date?" She ground out her words between clenched teeth, "Do you talk to your mate like that?" She spat out the words and waited for his reaction. "Or should I say, does she let you talk to her like that?" Her lips thinned in an angry line.

Baal laughed, "You will provide much amusement for me and my queen, female."

"Guard her well, and let none but me see her," he instructed the Kull Warrior on guard as he turned to leave.

He continued to laugh as he walked out of sight. Sam was alone, except for the Kull Warrior that stood just outside the force field.

She retreated to a corner, lowered herself gingerly to the floor, and lifted her shirt. There, on her lower right side, was a puncture. She found a corresponding one on her left. It must have been administered while she was still unconscious.

The shirt dropped from her fingers as she considered her problem and what she knew about egg extraction. While she was still dating Pete, she'd read up on in vitro fertilization. He had made it pretty clear to her that he wanted a child and with her history with Jolinar . . . Janet had told her a long time ago that her chances of getting pregnant weren't good.

When she broke up with Pete, she'd dropped the subject and Jack hadn't brought it up. The possibility of having a child – their child – appealed to her though. Surprisingly enough, her maternal instinct was strong – even stronger than her love for her work – and that was something.

Cassie had proven that to her; despite her resolution not to get involved, she had fallen in love with that little girl the moment she set eyes on her. She smiled as she thought of the child who had trusted her so much.

Sam rubbed her stomach and winced; the injection sites were sore and she doubled over as a cramp caused her muscles to ripple with pain. She cast about for a topic to distract her – it wasn't that hard.

So Baal was taking them to Tartarus – so much for the Prometheus' ability to track them. Their only hope rested with the Asgard. Hopefully Thor had been nearby and could find them.

Sam curled up on the floor, one hand protectively over her abdomen, the other cradled her head. Baal hadn't told her where Jack was – but he had to be okay. The Goa'uld needed him too badly to allow him to come to harm. Just the same, she missed him and wanted him there with her.

Unwanted tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them away with her free hand. The hormone shots would propel her into the PMS from hell and heaven help anyone who messed with her.

Her lips curved in a feral smile, come to think of it, she could use the unpredictable mood swings to her advantage. Baal would never know what hit him.

xXx

When Jack regained consciousness, he had a splitting headache and a sore jaw. He resisted the urge to open his eyes; from past experience he knew that light of any kind would do his headache no good. And if memory served him right, he wouldn't like the view anyway.

Vague blurred memories of a night with Sam and hearing a noise outside their bedroom segued into Jaffa zatting both of them. Then he'd seen Baal – no surprise there. But they'd taken her too, that wasn't supposed to be part of the plan.

He took a chance and squinted through half-closed eyelids, then slammed them shut when the band playing 'Seventy-six Trombones' – complete with a very active tuba section and cymbals – chose to up the ante and go for an encore – with a cannon for accompaniment.

His brain ordered his arm to flop across his eyes but met resistance. When he tried to raise his arms – and couldn't – he realized his wrists were cuffed at his side. His eyes snapped open and he blinked to clear the grit that seemed to coat his eyeballs.

The ceiling above his head wasn't encouraging, neither were the walls; they were covered in gold hieroglyphs that probably touted the usual glorious deeds of the resident snake head – bow-before-your-god crap.

When he raised his head to look down the length of his body, he couldn't make out much – except he was naked and someone had draped a cloth across his mid-section, which gave him some semblance of dignity. His head dropped back to the table and he grimaced.

He flexed his muscles, and discovered there were leather restraints across his waist, and thighs while his ankles were tied to the outer edges with his legs spread apart. As for what that might mean to his near future – Jack didn't even want to go there. Chances were good that someone would drag him there – kicking and screaming – as it was.

Judging from the extensive nature of the cuffs someone didn't want him to wander off. It wasn't too hard to figure out who that was.

To better view his surroundings, he craned his neck around. It wasn't so much that he wanted to see the rest of the room; he'd already figured out that it didn't interest him half as much as what he didn't see – or rather who – Carter.

The restraints put a definite crimp in his plans to find her, but he needed to learn her whereabouts – the sooner the better. Crap, it was his fault she was a prisoner. If he'd had any sense at all, Jack would have sent her back to the SGC from the White House. Then Sam would've been safe.

He did have a faint scrap of memory – one in which the Baal's face loomed over his own – the snake had told him that Carter wasn't his concern. Along with a faint awareness of being dragged down a hallway by muscle-bound goons dressed in black – super soldiers? He'd thought they'd been destroyed. Evidently he hadn't gotten all his memos. Either that or he'd had one heck of a nightmare.

"My lord, the Tau'ri has awakened."

He still didn't see anyone in the room with him, but he knew that would soon change. The sound of footsteps came closer; several seemed heavier than the others.

Jack resisted the impulse to raise his head to check out the landscape. After all, he was cast in a starring role that he didn't particularly want. The show would start and he'd know the other players soon enough.

Sure enough, Baal's gloating face appeared over him. That, at least, was no surprise. At his side were several black-clad goons, super soldiers. So he hadn't imagined those guys. He'd have to speak to Ida about those memos.

Jack remained silent and waited for Baal's opening gambit. As usual, it worked. The snake just couldn't help himself.

"You do not speak?" Baal smiled like the cat that got the canary – unfortunately, he was the canary.

Jack rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud," he muttered.

"Where is your spirit, O'Neill? You once bragged that you did not know the meaning of impudence," Baal chuckled and reached down to stroke the side of Jack's face.

Jack flinched away and bit his lip. He'd paid for that remark – in spades.

"Would you believe I got a dictionary?" Jack smirked and tried for a nonchalance that he didn't feel.

"Ah, that is the Tau'ri that I remember so well," Baal paused, "You provided me with many hours – and days – of amusement."

Jack remained silent.

"You don't remember?"

Jack shrugged, "Ah, well you know how it is, the years go by – you get a little older. First the knees go, then you're wandering around lost in the parking lot looking for your truck."

"I have missed our. . . conversations, Tau'ri," Baal purred, "So much so that I made arrangements that you should not leave prematurely."

"Wouldn't want to overstay my welcome, Slime-Baal," Jack demurred as he dodged the touch of the Goa'uld's fingers on his cheek once again.

"Oh, but I insist that you remain with me."

"Well, I had to try, didn't I?" Jack shrugged and fisted his hands.

Baal's smile showed all his teeth – a ghoulish combination of Jaws and Farrah Fawcett. "You have chosen a mate, O'Neill?"

"Who? Oh, you mean Carter?" Jack stiffened and then forced himself to relax. "She's just a friend."

"Regardless, it would appear that you have feelings for this female," Baal paused and seemed to study his captive's reaction. "You asked for her earlier."

"Oh really, sorry," Jack shrugged and relaxed his fists, "Don't remember a thing."

"Bring her," Baal ordered with a flick of his fingers.

The sound of a struggle drew Jack's attention.

"Sir?"

There was no mistaking that voice. "Carter?"

Automatically he raised his head and then let it thud back onto the table when he was reminded by the restraints that he couldn't get off the table. His eyes widened as his mind raced. Baal had to have a reason for letting him see her now. What was it? And what did he want with her?

"Yes, sir."

At the sound of her voice, he raised his head again; though he craned his head around he couldn't see her. Then the two Kull Warriors standing at his feet stepped aside and there she was – looking a bit worse for wear – but good nonetheless. And she had clothes on. Considering the company, that was a definite plus.

"You okay, Carter?"

She nibbled her lower lip and nodded; her blue eyes impossibly wide in her too-pale face. "You?"

"Oh, I've had better days," he stared at the ceiling.

"How touching," smiled Baal.

Jack turned his fury on the Goa'uld responsible for it all. "Why is she here anyway, Dirt-Baal?" He spat out his words. "What do you need her for?"

"I admit that it was not my plan to bring her, but when we came for you, she was there also."

"So, why not let her go? Just drop her off at the nearest bus station – she can find her way back home by herself – no problem."

"Because it pleases me to have her here," Baal explained as if to a small child.

Then he stroked his goatee, "You do not know where you are; do you?"

Mister Snakehead seemed very pleased with himself, which set Jack's alarm bells ringing. Something was not right and the only way he'd find out was to play along – let the scum-sucking parasite have his fun – for now.

Jack squinted as if in thought. "In general or do you want specifics?"

Baal chuckled. "No matter – we are no longer on your world."

He raised his head to get a look at Carter; she shook her head and looked worried. Okay –that couldn't be good; so much for their plans and the tracking device. Once again, their grand strategy was in the crapper. His heart sank into his stomach as he laid his head back onto the table.

"Okay, I'll bite – just where the hell are we?" He licked suddenly dry lips.

"Tartarus."

"Tartar Sauce? Where's that?" He turned his head to look up at his captor.

Baal indicated Carter with his hand. "Tell him, female."

"Tartarus is the planet where Anubis created his super soldiers in his labs," she answered. He really wasn't surprised that she knew the answer – Carter was like that.

"Ah!"

Jack directed his question at Sam. "Not Earth?"

She shook her head and looked away.

"Well that's just peachy."

"You have something I want, O'Neill," Baal looked serious now – which was so not a good sign.

"And just what do I have that some over-dressed parasite with delusions of godhood would want? I don't think we're the same size and I've got to tell ya, the Air Force uniform doesn't come in black brocade." Jack glared up at his captor. "We have better taste than that."

"Your Ancient powers."

"My what?"

"Cease playing word games with me, Tau'ri. It is well-known that it was you who destroyed Anubis' fleet when you activated the Ancient device hidden beneath the ice of your world."

"And?" Jack shrugged and stared at the ceiling. "What's your point?"

"I mean to gain control of those powers."

"Ain't gonna happen," Jack rolled his head from side to side on the table just in case Baal didn't understand that no means hell no.

"Ah, but it will, for I do not require your cooperation in this matter, only your presence . . . and your genetic material."

"So – you'll need a cheek swab then?"

"No, my genetic engineers inform me that they require material that is – closer to the source."

Jack's eyes widened, looked away and swallowed hard. This was so not his day, or his week for that matter.

Baal signaled with his fingers. "Bring the specialists, I grow tired of waiting."

xXx


	7. Chapter 7

xXx

"Sir?"

At the sound of her voice, Jack lifted his head to look at her, his brown eyes almost black with emotion. "Carter, I . . ." his words trailed off.

Sam fought against the grip of the two Kull Warriors at her side, but her efforts seemed futile. The dull thud of Jack's head when it hit the table seemed to echo around the room.

"Hold him," Baal ordered.

Two Warriors held his shoulders; the other two grabbed his hips and thighs in their strong hands. In doing so they blocked her view so that she could only see Jack's feet and legs. Mesmerized she watched his toes and feet contort and writhe within the restraints as he attempted to wiggle away from their grasp. Unfortunately, his attempts were as futile as hers.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack's voice held a note of desperation that galvanized Sam to renew her efforts.

If only her head didn't pound so, she could concentrate better – think of a way out of this for him – for them. Jack had always depended on her to pull a rabbit out of the hat . . . and other places. Her vision blurred and she could feel her heart pulse in time with her headache.

Her bare feet scrabbled on the floor as she fought for leverage. One foot lashed out at the Warrior on her right; she winced with pain because it felt like she'd kicked a concrete block. The brute didn't even seem to notice that she'd attacked him. She swallowed the bile that suddenly clogged her airway. The acidic liquid left behind a sour taste in her mouth and a dry raspy throat.

Briefly, her vision cleared and she saw the cloth that had covered Jack's mid-section slither to the floor to lie abandoned.

She could barely see over the pair of Warriors whose bulk obscured her view of Jack. Her concentration was so focused on him that she was startled when two technicians walked past her and stood on the opposite side to Baal.

The sight of them stilled her struggles as nothing else could, for she recognized them – they were the ones that had administered the hormone injections to her. The muscles in her swollen abdomen convulsed in memory and she bit her lip to overcome the pain.

An unknown moistness trickled from her nose; its presence irritated her and she sniffed. When that didn't help, she tongued it away from her upper lip and grimaced when it tasted of copper.

Sam bent to wipe it on her upper arm and when she saw the smeared blood, her eyes widened with concern. What was happening to her?

But she couldn't worry about her own well being at present. Jack was depending on her to figure a way out of this – but she couldn't think above the pulse of pain that beat inside her head. Her stomach heaved and she fought a wave of dizziness that threatened her sense of balance.

"No, she muttered, "Think about Jack. Concentrate on him, Samantha Jean Carter."

She almost welcomed the diversion that the sound of the lead technician's voice provided,

"First a small incision – a necessity in order to harvest the genetic material, my lord."

Baal was silent, seemingly lost in thought and the tech with the knife seemed to take that as permission to continue with his grisly task.

Hold him still," ordered the tech.

Baal reinforced the order with a nod toward the Kull Warriors. The muscles in Jack's feet and legs corded.

"What's going on," screamed Carter. "Sir?"

"Oh, god . . . no," moaned Jack.

"Don't do this, Baal," she pleaded as tears welled up in her eyes and then flowed down her cheeks.

The Goa'uld ignored her, his eyes riveted on the scene in front of him. He rubbed his chin with his forefinger and licked his lips as if in hunger.

Hold him steady," the tech raised a needle in front of him as he adjusted the plunger. "This is a very delicate operation – one usually done with the patient anesthetized – I don't want the material to be damaged or contaminated."

In front of her horrified gaze, the syringe disappeared behind the concealing curtain of the two Warriors.

"Nooo!"

A bubbling scream that Sam recognized as Jack's rent the air. It built into a crescendo, and then died away to be followed by silence that was only relieved by the sound of his gasps and her sobs.

"There, it's in," the tech's voice sounded tense, "Give me the storage vial."

The technicians stepped away from the table, one holding a tray.

Baal finally took his eyes off Jack and looked at her. His eyes flashed and he smiled. "Release him and bring the female."

Sam swallowed the bile that gushed into her mouth and grimaced at the sour taste as she watched the four Warriors undo the restraints that held Jack to the table. Then they lifted him off it and he fell to the floor in an untidy heap.

Two Warriors picked him up where he slumped between them, his head lolled forward. She couldn't tell if he were conscious or not. For his sake, she hoped he wasn't.

Then she was pulled toward the blood-smeared table and lifted onto it.

"What are you doing?" She hated it when her voice wavered as saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

"It is time to harvest your eggs," Baal hovered over her as two Warriors fastened the restraints over her wrists – the other two held down her legs.

She tried to wiggle out of their grasp and kicked at them. "I don't think so," she hawked and spit at the Goa'uld but it missed its mark.

"Carter?" Jack's voice sounded faint.

Her wrists restrained, the Warriors fastened the leather cuffs around her thighs and ankles.

"Let her go, Slime-Baal," Jack growled, his voice stronger now and filled with rage.

xXx

"Sir?" her voice trembled and their eyes met. "Jack."

Jack lunged toward the table, but was brought up short by his guards. "Carter, don't . . ." he bit his lip, unable to continue.

His eyes met with Baal's who smiled, "Continue with the harvest."

The gray-suited technicians nodded and busied themselves with their instruments.

"Jack?" Sam moaned. "I don't feel . . ."

As he watched, her eyes rolled up in her head and she began to convulse. Her head made a hollow sound as it thudded against the table and her back arched against the leather straps.

"Let me go!" Jack's eyes grew wide as he tried to get to her side. "Please."

"What is going on?" Baal too seemed puzzled – which scared Jack even more.

The head technician looked at Baal. "She appears to be having an allergic reaction to the injections, my lord."

"What?" Jack eyes blazed as he shouted at Baal. "What injections?"

Baal appeared angry and concentrated his attention on the technician. "Will it affect the eggs?"

"No, my lord, but it could be fatal if we continue," he temporized.

"It is of no consequence if she lives or dies – continue the harvest," Baal snapped.

The technician shrugged and picked up a syringe. "I have to administer something to stop the convulsions, my lord."

Baal nodded his permission.

As Jack watched, the contents of Sam's stomach bubbled out of her mouth and then ran down her cheeks to puddle in her ears and around her neck. Almost immediately she choked and gasped for air.

"Turn her head," Jack shouted. "Turn her on her side or she'll aspirate it and die."

Such was the tone of Jack's voice that the man started to do as he had commanded – until Baal spoke.

"No."

The technician froze in place, "My lord?"

"Leave her," The Goa'uld's eyes flashed – a not so subtle reminder of his power. "Continue the harvest." Baal smiled and looked at Jack.

O'Neill sprang for the table, and like a dog on a leash, was brought up short. "If you don't want him to do it, then let me."

The jerking of Sam's body began to slow as she struggled to breathe through a blocked airway. Her eyes bulged and her back arched off the table; then she collapsed and lay without moving.

The technician's eyes grew wide and he laid his fingers against her neck. "There is no pulse, my lord."

Baal's lips thinned around his smile as he looked straight at Jack. "Continue the harvest."

The man nodded, picked up his scalpel, made an incision. Her blood trickled in a thin stream down her side.

Jack howled with rage, "Why didn't you let me save her?"

"Her only purpose was to produce the eggs for the cloning process. Alive or dead, her body will provide this."

Jack gaped in disbelief, "You have a sarcophagus, don't you?"

This couldn't be happening, not to Carter – to Sam. She deserved better than this and it was up to him to ensure that she got it. He had to find a way to stop the butcher who sawed away at her insides, like she was so much dead meat.

"Yes, but I choose who is worthy of its use. The female has served her purpose and is unworthy of further notice," Baal's smile showed his teeth and his eyes held no hint of humor . . . or mercy.

"Stop butchering her," Jack screamed, his eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to flow down his face. "Just stop it."

The tech paused and raised his eyes in question, "My lord?"

"Continue, or you will join her on the table," Baal warned.

The tech nodded and lifted a bloody bit of material out of her body cavity and placed it in a waiting bowl. "I have excised a part of her ovary. It will provide the material that is needed."

"Good," Baal turned to the Warriors who stood at her head, "Dispose of the body."

The technician placed his scalpel on the tray and picked up the blood-spattered bowl. Then they both left with their equipment.

Jack's eyes darted back and forth from Carter's body on the table to Baal. "No, you don't have to do that."

Baal's eyes flashed, "You dare defy me?"

"No," Jack's eyes pleaded, "She deserves to live."

"She is of no consequence to me. I care not if she lives or dies."

"I care," he shouted wide-eyed; then his face went slack with grief and the words that would damn them both ghosted past his lips. "I love her."

Baal's eyes glittered. "Then she is your mate?"

"Yes," Jack whispered, "Sam is my mate." He swallowed hard and tried to shrug out of his guard's grip on his arms.

"Let him go," Baal stepped well beyond Jack's reach and his Warriors moved to flank him.

Jack limped toward Sam's body and leaned over her torso; his fingers searched for a pulse he already knew wouldn't be there. He bit his lip to prevent the sob that fought for release from his lips. Trembling fingers brushed the sweaty hair from her face while his thumb closed her eyes. Then his lips brushed her forehead.

"Oh, Sam," he whispered, "This is my fault."

"Yes, it is your fault," Baal agreed.

"I was selfish," Jack continued to talk to Sam as tears brimmed in his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks, "You shouldn't have been there."

"And because you did not send her away, she died." Baal's eyes narrowed. "You killed her."

"What do you want, Baal? What is the price for her life?" Jack asked through lips that barely moved; his eyes on the bloody figure that lay unmoving on the table. He knew what Baal wanted – and as much as he hated to admit it, he would give it to him – he would buy Sam's life with his soul.

"The power of the Ancients."

"I can't." Jack shook his head. "That's not something I can just give away. Don't you think I would've done that by now if I could?"

"Yes, I suppose you would – your cooperation then." Baal stroked his goatee. "It is really such a little thing to ask, is it not?"

"My cooperation," Jack spoke as if in a daze. "Yeah, sure, I'll do what you want. Just let her live."

Baal turned to the Warriors, "Excellent. Take her to the sarcophagus. As for O'Neill, take him to his cell."

"No," O'Neill gathered her in his arms; his air of determination dared the Goa'uld to stop him from this task. "I want to take her there myself."

Baal shrugged. "I shall allow it," he paused and his voice turned deadly. "But do not defy me again."

O'Neill nodded and bent to take her in his arms, red-hot pain shot through his groin made him gasp as he picked her up in his arms. He grunted when her full weight rested in his arms. Her head lay against trustingly against his chest; he could almost imagine she was asleep if he ignored the blood and vomit that smeared her features.

He took a step and almost collapsed as his thighs and abdomen burned with pain. He stopped and grimaced. He would do this; he had to. She deserved that much from him.

"Assist him," Baal ordered the Warriors who had automatically moved to surround Jack and his burden.

"No," he gritted, "I'll do it."

As a way to deal with the pain, Jack counted the steps – each one a penance for his crime – each one brought her closer to the instrument that would restore her life. Long since his world had narrowed to Sam's face and the need to continue.

On autopilot, Jack's legs and feet moved on their own volition. Blood from his groin mixed with thick half-congealed blood from Sam's abdominal wound trickled down his legs leaving bloody footprints in his wake. He ignored it, like the pain that surged through his entire body. It was unimportant compared to his mission. Perhaps if he suffered enough, it would make up for the lapse in judgment that had resulted in her capture and death.

One step was followed by another on a trek that generated memories of Iran and his ill-fated HALO jump. That time, he'd limped, hopped and crawled through the desert with only one thought in mind – reuniting with Sara. Now, only his stubborn need to restore Sam to life kept him on his feet and moving forward.

A hand on his shoulder stopped his forward progress and he looked around him. At his feet were two sarcophagi –one right next to the other – he had made it.

Baal stood at the head of the nearest one and touched a control; its lid split down the center as it opened.

Jack pitched forward and collapsed to his knees, his abused muscles taxed beyond their limits to cope. Sam's body rolled out of his arms and fell into the open sarcophagus, her legs and arms stuck out over the edge at odd angles like the legs of a doll that had been discarded by its capricious owner.

Jack gritted his teeth and tenderly rearranged her limbs inside the box that would give her life. Then he sat on the floor and propped himself up with one hand, all his energy was spent.

"Just do it," he muttered, "Before I change my mind."

Baal pushed the button and the leaves closed together with the sound of stone grating on stone.

Jack watched them close, until his view of Sam's slack features was obscured by the closed lid. His face mirrored Sam's – void of any emotion.

He felt sick and worn out and absently picked at the blood that had dried on his bare abdomen – Sam's blood. He held his crimson-stained hand up for inspection. Even his nails were encrusted with it.

So her blood was on his hands – in more ways than one – someone's idea of macabre poetic justice.

"Place him in the other sarcophagus," Baal ordered the Warriors who had accompanied them.

"What?"

Jack looked up at the Goa'uld in confusion. Nothing seemed real anymore. Maybe it was all a bad dream and he'd wake up soon in his own bed, with Sam there beside him – with nothing more urgent on his agenda than a day full of meetings with the top brass.

"Your mind and body have begun to fail; you need the services of the sarcophagus."

At some point Baal had moved and now stood beside Jack. In his dazed state, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd done that.

His eyes were drawn to Baal's black boots. He'd never noticed just how shiny they were before and couldn't help but wonder how he did it. He'd have to remember to ask Baal about that.

Then, starting at the calves of those polished black boots, Jack's eyes progressed up Baal's pant legs, his stomach covered in black brocade and then to his chest with its carved silver clasps. Finally, Jack's head tipped back and looked up at the Goa'uld's face.

"No, I want to wait for Sam," Jack shook his head in slow motion and his voice took on the peevishness of a child.

"You would defy me?" Baal's eyes flashed, "Remove the female and dispose of her body."

'No, stop," Jack's daze was shattered with those words.

He reached out to grab at Baal's leg, to beg if necessary. But the nearest Warrior wrapped his fingers in Jack's hair and hauled him up onto his knees to face the snake he'd sold his soul to.

"You have foresworn your word," Baal pronounced. "What of your promise of cooperation? Or was your promise only meaningless words?"

"No, wait a minute. I'll cooperate. Just . . ."

"Show me this cooperation, without question. Honor your god." Baal glared down at his captive. "Release him."

Now free, Jack's head slowly dropped as his body preformed the abeyance demanded.

"Do whatever you want," rasped from numb lips as his forehead met the cool floor.

The swish and swirl of rich brocade and the distinct sound of heavy booted feet stepping behind him said he was both forgiven – and damned.

Slowly Jack slipped sideways to collapse onto his side where he laid with his eyes open in a blank stare. His fingers reached out and caressed the side of the sarcophagus where Sam was interred.

He hardly noticed when the Warrior picked him up and then carried him to the second sarcophagus.

At Baal's touch, the leaves of the lid parted with the sound of stone grating against stone. "Place him in the sarcophagus and guard both of them well. Summon me when O'Neill has awakened."

Jack was laid in it and watched impassively as the lid closed over him – then he closed his eyes.

xXx


	8. Chapter 8

xXx

Many thanks to JoleneB for lending her writing talent. She provided the right touch to liven up a scene and heighten the tension.

xXx

Thor studied his sensor readout with growing disquiet. The view screen of the 'Daniel Jackson' showed the planet, Tartarus. From orbit, it looked to be a beautiful world, innocuous with its blue-green oceans and vast continents. If only its appearance matched the grim reality.

Tartarus – its pervious tenant had been Anubis. Located on the edge of known space, this powerful Goa'uld had used its relative isolation to his advantage and fortified it with a powerful sensor array that monitored all comers to the area. On its surface, Anubis had erected an impregnable fortress and used the laboratories hidden within to create a new weapon, the seemingly indestructible Kull Warriors that had run rampant across the known galaxy.

Now that Anubis had disappeared, Baal ruled as the most powerful Goa'uld and had taken his previous master's domain as his own. Thor shook his head, and remonstrated with himself. He should have suspected that Baal would not abandon the cloning research that Anubis had begun.

His fingers touched the sensor controls with delicate precision. He knew he was not mistaken in his belief that O'Neill and Colonel Carter had were being held on this world but the sensor array that defended the world below was more extensive than he had initially realized. It would be much more difficult to fulfill their rescue than he had first thought.

Two red blinking lights marked the positions of the two humans, but until they were alone, he dared not appear to them. According to his sensors, they were together and stationary but surrounded by Warriors.

An incoming message caught the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet unawares and the face that appeared on his view screen was . . . disconcerting.

"Why do the Asgard trespass upon my domain?" Baal's face sneered. "Do you not have other worlds to bother with your trivial pursuits?"

Thor blinked, "I apologize if I have disturbed you, but I am performing an astronomical survey of a nearby anomaly."

"I know of none such anomaly, Asgard," Baal spat out the name and wrinkled his nose as if in disgust. Then the Goa'uld's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Would this anomaly bear a resemblance to the Tau'ri?"

"My sensors show two humans on your world," Thor nodded. "These same humans were taken against their wills from their home world, in direct violation of the Protected Planets Treaty."

"Bah, I care nothing for your treaties; for you and I both know that you lack the ability and the technology to enforce them."

Thor blinked, the Goa'uld was correct in his assumption, but it had been worth a try. Still, it galled him to have to admit it and retreat from such arrogance.

"Then you admit you hold them prisoner?"

"I have none here but my loyal subjects," Baal's eyes glittered. "Now be gone and trouble me no more."

"And if I do not?"

"Then your pitiful vessel shall feel my wrath."

The screen went blank.

Thor rubbed his forehead with one hand, this task would be much more complicated than he had realized. It was at times like this that he wondered if it might have been wiser to have thrown the impetuous O'Neill back through the Stargate on Othalla when he had first tumbled down those steps all those years ago and begged for help.

xXx

Anat stretched languidly on her bed and watched Baal, adjust his clothing in front of their floor-length mirror.

Upon his return from his session with the Tau'ri O'Neill, he had been unusually amorous – delightfully so. She wriggled with remembered pleasure and slipped out of bed, her goal – her mate.

She approached him from the back, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin against the black brocade jacket he wore. She rubbed against the velvety cloth and enjoyed the rasp of the textured fabric against her skin.

"Return to bed with me, my love," she purred.

Baal sighed and turned in her arms so he faced her. "No, my queen, I am needed in the control room – the meddling Asgard triggered our intruder alert system. They know of our captives and bear watching."

"But I want you," she pouted. "And I'm bored."

Baal smiled down at her and lifted one shaped eyebrow, "With me?"

"Never, but if you must go . . ." her words trailed off as her finger traced the swirled pattern on his jacket.

"I must."

"Then I wish the Tau'ri O'Neill to be brought to my quarters."

"Why?"

She shrugged, "It would help pass the time while you are otherwise occupied."

"I would not have competition from a mere Tau'ri such as he," Baal's lips thinned with anger and her finger stilled.

For a moment she wondered if she had pushed him too far. Though he was her rival in the great game of political conspiracy that all of her race was so adept at, he had his uses and was a valuable ally, one she must take care not to alienate. Her fingers resumed their tracing on his chest.

"No competition, my king, merely a plaything to pass the time until your return," her tongue touched her upper lip in a sensuous smile.

"He has not yet awakened from the sarcophagus. He was . . . damaged in our last meeting."

"Then he will be like new when he awakens," she purred, "And be so much the better for it. You should know by now that I prefer my diversion to be . . . spirited and passionate."

"Yes, you do," he bent down and kissed her.

Then you will send him?" she murmured into his lips.

Baal grimaced and pulled away to look down at her. "Yes, I will bring him to you, but will remain so that you are not without protection. Though he appears broken, I believe him to still be a danger."

"So much the better for me," she left his embrace and glided over to their bed.

xXx

Jack opened his eyes and squinted against the glare. He looked from side to side and then sighed. The view was the same no matter where he turned – lighted panels from the inside of a sarcophagus. This crappy day just kept getting better and better all the time.

A thin line appeared over his head and it vee'd open to the accompaniment of grinding stone. The lid was opening; evidently he had been judged to be fit enough to release.

A face appeared above him, one he'd dreaded to see – Baal.

He blinked against the overhead glare and sat up.

Baal smiled, "Good, you have awakened."

Jack said nothing and glanced to one side. The other sarcophagus was closed.

"The female will require a longer period in the sarcophagus."

Jack nodded; he didn't trust his voice. Too much had happened for that.

Like a motion picture unreeling before his eyes, he saw himself give in to Baal. Yet, it was as if it wasn't really him, someone else mouthed the words – and bought Sam's life with his soul.

He remembered all of it, every single detail was seared in his memory – his words, and actions to include when he'd kissed the floor, his bare ass stuck up in the air like a white flag of surrender.

He had the feeling that Sam wouldn't appreciate the sacrifice he'd made for her. Oh well, he'd done it and she would just have to live with it – literally. Lord only knew that he would.

His mind shied away from that topic – it wasn't a decision he'd made lightly and it galled him to think that Baal had discovered what it took to make him cave in to his demands. And knowing the snake as he did, Jack realized that Baal would capitalize on that knowledge and flaunt it at the earliest opportunity.

He looked down, to check out dick and the twins; they looked to be none the worse for wear, at least on the surface. Plus they hadn't as much as twinged when he'd sat up, so that was a good sign. His belly and thighs were free of dried gore too. Apparently the box had a rinse cycle along with everything else.

"You will clothe yourself," Baal gestured toward the other side of the room and Jack stepped out of the sarcophagus.

Once out, he checked the twin of the one he'd just vacated; it sat there, humming away So, no chance of seeing Sam yet, but he'd try to hang around as long as he could on the off-chance that it would open in the near future.

First things first, though, he was fed up with traipsing around in nothing but his birthday suit. The cold of the floor hurried him across the room and he hoped that Baal had improved his color selection of clothes for the poor and insignificant. He so didn't want to be stuck with wearing brown again – ever.

"It's about time," he muttered and then ducked his head when Baal turned his way.

As long as Sam was still in that box, he'd have to watch his mouth. Come to think of it, now that Baal knew how he felt about her, he'd continue to use her welfare against him – he would if the tables were turned.

He picked up the cloth suspiciously and then turned to Baal, the offending garment hanging from his fingers. "You want me to wear this?"

"You do not approve of my queen's choice for you?" Baal chuckled, his perfect white teeth flashed in the overhead light.

Jack's Adams apple bobbed nervously. "Your queen picked this out?" It came out as a squeak and he frowned at his body's betrayal of his state of mind.

"Yes she did. In fact, she was most concerned that you be attired in an appropriate manner when I present you to her."

Jack cleared his throat, "Oh, no. This will do just fine," he dared a quick glance at Baal who seemed to think the situation was funny. "Maybe for a hooker on a street corner," he muttered under his breath as he stepped into the shorts and drew them up to his waist.

He inspected them – they were gray in color and fell to about mid-thigh. Not as bad as he'd feared – but still not exactly his choice either. But then, that's what this was all about, wasn't it? He was a prisoner and subject to the whims of his captor – same old story, different verse. And this particular captor had him by the balls – quite literally.

When the sarcophagus that contained Sam ground open, Jack stepped toward it without question – but froze in mid-step at the disapproval in Baal's voice.

"No," Baal's voice was hard, and razor sharp. "Attend me."

"But . . ." Jack's eyes widened as he took a fleeing look at the familiar figure that reclined within.

"Honor your god," Baal's voice thundered and his eyes flashed.

Jack sighed, too angry to trust his voice and dropped to his knees, his head held erect. Firm hands on his shoulders applied pressure to keep him there. Without thinking, he tried to shrug them off – and then froze as he was forced to remember by Baal's glare.

"Fool, you try my patience. I have been more than generous, why do you not cooperate as you agreed?"

Jack remained silent and fixed his gaze on the floor at Baal's boots.

"Perhaps you require another demonstration of my power."

Without warning, Baal's fingers wrapped around Jack's jaw, squeezing his cheeks and forcing him to look up at his captor. Unable to speak, Jack's eyes blazed defiance.

"Yes, I see that you do," Baal chuckled and released his hold. Jack opened his mouth and his jaw popped as he massaged it with one hand.

"Bring the female to my chamber once she has been adequately prepared for the process." Baal ordered.

"Sir?" The feminine voice sounded confused and unsure.

Jack recognized it and yearned to answer – but hesitated. If he did, he wouldn't pay the consequence for his disobedience, but Sam would.

"Attend me, Tau'ri," Baal commanded.

Jack watched the booted feet walk away. Only then did the pressure on his shoulders end. He took that as permission to stand. While doing so, he pivoted to one side and his eyes darted toward the voice. For a brief moment, brown eyes met with blue. Then he wrenched his away and walked away from Sam and toward the snake that owned his soul.

With a Warrior on either side, Jack followed Baal down the hallway, sidestepping a woman clothed in rags on her knees scrubbing the floor.

Jack scrutinized the figure that did not seem to notice that anyone was around, so intent was she on her task.

Baal's voice caught his attention. "The female slave is extremely industrious, do you not agree?"

Wary for a trap, Jack answered. "Yeah, I guess."

"All thoughts of opposition were eradicated from her mind due to a new process I initiated. It has proved very useful in ensuring the prompt execution of my commands."

Baal paused and allowed Jack to stand beside him. "Your mate can also be made to be such as the slave we just encountered. Would you like this? It would make her much more . . . biddable to your needs," Baal chuckled and arched his eyebrows.

"No, I like her just the way she is," Jack didn't stop to consider it; he remembered too well the soulless eyes of the captured Kull Warrior that Sam had interrogated.

The Goa'uld was up to something and he had the feeling he wouldn't like it. But he had little time to reflect on it as Baal was on the move once again. A not so subtle jab in the ribs from his escort had him walking again.

They approached a doorway and Baal preceded them through it and then stood next to a blonde woman, from her dress, his queen. Baal's next words confirmed his assumption.

"Anat, I have brought the Tau'ri as you requested."

Jack stood there, taking in the room. It was large and opulently furnished in the usual over the top Goa'uld décor, which meant lots of gold inlay on the walls and furniture. A large bed with rumpled red satin sheets dominated the room.

As for the queen, she was dressed in a skimpy peignoir that revealed more than it concealed of her lithe and well-endowed body. She looked to be about as safe to handle as a black widow spider and just as friendly to the male of the species.

Jack kept his eyes on Anat who smiled and licked her lips as she gave him the once over. He felt her eyes on him and shivered as if he could feel her touch against his flesh. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment even as he chided himself for his display of weakness.

He clenched his jaw, hands fisted at his sides as she sauntered toward him, one hip at a time. "He is as pleasing to the eye as I remembered."

Jack lifted one eyebrow but otherwise remained silent, one eye on Baal, the other on Anat. To say that he was in a precarious position was an understatement. For now, at least, Baal seemed to be enjoying his discomfort.

Baal stroked his goatee and smiled. "You like him, my pet?"

Anat paused and returned his smile. "Yes, I do. Can I have him?"

"Hey, I'm here you know," Jack protested and then clamped his mouth shut as he realized Anat's attention had focused back on him – exactly where he didn't want it to be.

She circled around him, and he tensed as her fingers traced his shoulder and then lingered on the back of his neck where a certain scar remained as a reminder of what could have been. Goose bumps appeared on his shoulders and arms. He recoiled from her touch, but she pressed her advantage and maintained contact with him.

"You were once one of us?"

"Nah, it didn't agree with me."

She laughed, "I can see that."

Her fingers caressed the scar and then moved to his other shoulder as she continued to circle him like a shark with its prey.

Baal chuckled. "Did I not tell you of our first meeting, my queen?"

"Ah yes, I remember," her fingers left Jack's shoulder and continued down his arm as she left him and undulated toward Baal. "Kanan was his name, was it not?"

Jack remained silent, but breathed a bit easier once she no longer touched him. He had the sudden urge to take a long hot shower and scrub his skin with a strong disinfectant.

"I don't think he likes me," Anat pouted as she joined Baal and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. "No matter. That sort of thing has never mattered, has it, my love?"

Baal's opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the sound of wheels rolling across the floor. Jack breathed a silent sigh of relief and looked to see what had saved him from the over-sexed reject from the Fredrick's Of Hollywood catalog.

"Your refreshment, my lord," a male servant wheeled in a basin crowned with intricately carved dragons and snakes. Baal nodded curtly, the servant then bowed and then left.

As Jack watched, both Anat and Baal crowded around the transparent bowl that contained their meal and he removed the lid. Then he dipped his hand into the basin and removed a wriggling symbiote while Anat followed suit.

She immediately sank her teeth into the neck of hers, tipped her head back, and swallowed the blood that spurted onto her chin and ran down her throat. Delicately, she licked the blood off the limp pieces in her hands and then smiled seductively at Baal.

However, Baal did not immediately eat his, instead he walked over to stand in front of Jack as the squirming symbiote screeched and spattered water on Baal's arm. "Our refreshment," he thrust it in Jack's face who flinched away, his obvious distaste apparent. "Perhaps you would join us?"

"Uh, no thanks," he smiled disarmingly and patted his stomach. "I'm trying to watch my figure."

"Ah, but I think you will," Baal sneered. Then he turned to the Kull Warrior. "Bring the female."

Then he centered his attention fully on Jack while the symbiote continued to writhe in his grasp." These symbiotes are without will, and serve as a means to control its subject – much as the female slave you saw, or my Kull Warriors. The surplus serves as food for us."

Baal paused and then smiled as if an idea had just occurred to him. "However, I believe this one would prefer your mate to being a meal; do you not agree?"

Jack's mouth opened in disbelief. "What are you saying?"

"You will choose whether this symbiote is implanted in your female, or ends as your meal." The words sounded so sensible, yet their implication was absolutely appalling.

"You want me to eat that thing?" Jack's mouth twisted with distaste as his stomach roiled.

Baal shrugged. "It is your choice. But it would be wise to remember your promise to cooperate."

"So you're saying that if I don't eat the thing, you'll stick it inside Carter's head?"

Jack flashed back to the image of the woman bent over as she concentrated on her task of scrubbing the floor, a mind completely wiped free of individuality and free will. He pictured Sam as the slack-faced drone with no mind, her free will gone – her eyes dull and lifeless, lacking the spark of life and mischief he'd grown to love – and knew that there were worse things than death for her. And that was it.

"Give me the danged thing then," he grabbed for it but Baal held it out of his reach.

Just then two Kull Warriors led Carter into the room. Jack spared a quick glance at her; she looked okay, at least on the surface, but he wished with all his being that she was anyplace but here, yeah . . . as if that was going to happen.

"Bow before your god," Baal held the wriggling symbiote that twined around his arm and then glanced significantly at Carter.

"Sir?" Her voice beckoned to him, but he ignored it, he had to.

"Not now, Carter," he hissed.

"Hold her!"

"No!" Jack shouted it, as much a denial of what he had to do as his wish to stop Baal from carrying out his threat.

Jack dropped to his knees and then bent forward until his forehead touched the floor. It felt cool against his forehead and calmed his racing thoughts. He could do this, it was just like his special ops field training, and he'd certainly eaten worse to survive. Snake on a stick, it wasn't so bad. It would be a piece of cake; then again, he wouldn't go that far.

The tips of Baal's gleaming boots brushed against his hair. "Arise and eat your reward."

Jack raised his head, sat back on his haunches and opened his hands for the symbiote that still screeched its protest. When it was placed in his hands, he raised it to his lips and then closed his mouth around its twisting body; all the while he kept his eyes firmly on the Goa'uld in front of him. At least that way, he could avoid seeing Sam and her reaction to his seeming savagery.

With a violent jerk, he severed the head from its body and allowed the pieces to fall to the floor. As blood dribbled down his chin, he gagged and started to spit it out. It tasted . . . bad and scalded his tongue.

"No."

Jack froze and his eyes snapped to Baal's, taking his cue from them, his gaze dropped to the snake head's hand as it fell onto the vessel that still contained thrashing snakelets. Those finely manicured fingers snatched a screeching, angry symbiote from the water and handed it to his queen.

Sweat beaded on Jack's forehead as he battled his own body to prevent himself from spewing the contents of his mouth across the stone floor. He dared not move, all his instincts screamed at him to wait; yet his stomach needed a new battery for its hearing aid.

"Swallow it," Baal commanded, his pitiless eyes bored into Jack.

His eyes darted wildly from Baal to Anat, only when Baal's queen stood next to Carter and allowed the writhing symbiote's pronged mouth to touch her did the truth sink in. If he didn't eat this one, there was always a live one for Sam.

Jack closed his eyes and swallowing convulsively, forced the mess down his throat – and clapped a hand over his month as a physical control over his rebellious body. Unable to breathe he almost panicked, believing for a moment that the slimy juices had slithered down the wrong pipe. Finally he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, slumping as he continued to kneel before his 'god.' His pride was gone, as if it never was.

Baal smiled in satisfaction, no doubt at the sight of his enemy now so reduced. "Return them to their cell."

O'Neill sat motionless, barely seeming to breathe – eyes wide and staring straight ahead – as he swallowed several times convulsively. Then he looked up at Baal and pushed himself to his feet.

"Yeah, sure," he shrugged – beyond words at this point. "Whatever you say."

His eyes straight ahead and teeth clenched so tight they ached; he plodded doggedly toward his cell. As soon as he arrived, he sprinted for the facilities, dropped to his knees, and vomited the contents of his stomach into the container.

xXx


	9. Chapter 9

I've been told that I should add a warning when my descriptions become too – vivid. You may not want to read this while eating as an emesis basin may be required. I now return you to the scheduled programming. Dinky

xXx

"You look awful," Sam smiled to take some of the sting out of her words.

"I feel awful," Jack rasped through lips that were white with blisters. "Must've ate something that didn't agree with me."

She offered him a cup of water from a pitcher that had been waiting in their cell and then poured some over a rag. His eyes were bright with fever and she needed something to bring his temperature down.

He took it in trembling hands and raised it to his lips. Cautiously he took a sip and then swallowed with an audible groan. Setting down the pitcher, Sam sat down next to him where he slumped against the wall.

"No kidding. What was that about, anyway?"

"What?" He raised weary bloodshot eyes to her and winced when he dipped his head to swallow. "Oh, you mean that crap back there with Ma and Pa Snakehead?"

She nodded, almost afraid to continue. At least he hadn't immediately vomited the water back up – that had seemed to go on for hours. It made her feel so helpless to see him like that, she wanted to help, but there was essentially nothing she could do. So she settled for dabbing his face with a piece of wet cloth she'd torn from her shirt. It wasn't much, but it was the best she could do.

Jack shrugged as if it were nothing and seemed to avoid her eyes. "Oh, not much, Slime-Baal gave me a choice, either I ate the snake or he stuck it inside your head. So I ate it. Go figure."

"Holy, Hannah! He threatened to implant it – inside me?"

Sam shivered at his words. He still wouldn't look at her, which set off her alarm bells. So she crawled around and sat cross-legged in front of him so she could get a better look at him.

"Sorry, it feels like I gargled with broken glass." He paused to take another sip of water, and bent over to aid his swallow, before he continued. "Yeah, and that wasn't just any snake either. It's the same kind he used on the Kull Warriors, the type that turns you into a zombie." He closed his eyes and wheezed, as if the act of talking was an effort.

Her mouth made a soundless oh. "So, Baal has been using me as leverage to make you do what he wants?"

Jack nodded his gasps for breath loud in their otherwise quiet cell.

Sam leaned in closer to Jack, her face inches from his. Viewed from up close, he looked even worse. His pale face was a roadmap of wrinkles and lines etched in pain.

"Why are you letting him do that, Jack? When I saw you bow down to him, I didn't know what to think. I never thought I'd see you do that. Not to anyone, but especially not to that particular Goa'uld."

"Things change, Carter. So believe it." Jack's arm cradled his middle as he grimaced with pain. "Oh, god."

He bit his lip; thick clear liquid dripped down his chin from having ruptured some of the blisters on his mouth in the process. Sam's stomach lurched in sympathy.

"Is the pain worse?"

"No, about the same. Who knew I'd be allergic to those suckers?"

She knew a diversionary tactic when she heard one and wasn't about to give up so easily. "But how can you let him do that to you?"

Jack straightened and nailed her with his dark brown eyes. "You have to ask, Sam? Don't you know by now what you mean to me?"

Sam trumped his stare with one of her own, "Yes, but to give in to Baal like you did – and all because of me? Don't you think I can take care of myself without your help? Because I can, you know."

Jack's sighed and shook his head. "It would be kind of hard for you to do that if you were dead, now wouldn't it?"

She paused as her mind tried to put the pieces of this puzzle together. "What are you saying?"

"You died on the table, Sam. He'd already gotten what he wanted from you and dumping you in the nearest sarcophagus was not on his agenda – so I changed his mind."

"You changed his mind? How?"

"What do you think?"

He curled onto his side and heaved weakly, but a dribble of stringy saliva was the only result. Sam scooted around and lifted his head so it rested on her lap. Tenderly she wiped his mouth with her wet rag. Then her eyes widened when she saw the bloodstain on it. Her alarm quelled her nausea as his condition continued to deteriorate.

"You're vomiting blood?"

Jack nodded and then closed his eyes again.

"How long has this been going on?"

He shrugged, "Maybe a couple of hours."

"And you weren't going to tell me?"

"What could you do about it? Huh?"

Jack grunted and squeezed his eyes shut; his mouth opened as his stomach muscles rippled in another paroxysm of pain. This time he didn't bother stifling his deep coughs or wipe away the saliva mixed with blood that hung from his mouth.

"Get you some help?"

Jack lay unmoving except for the visible struggle as air rasped in and out of his open mouth. "No," a low almost whimper was his answer, and for a moment she wondered if she'd imagined it – just a trick played on her ear by his noisy gulps for air.

"What?"

"No . . ." his gaze was fixed on some faraway spot, a sure sign of the pain she knew he felt. "He'd just put me in back the sarcophagus. Been there, got the t-shirt – like I never left," his voice faded, as faraway as his gaze.

Sam slumped against the wall, and mulled over what he'd told her and what she'd witnessed. She knew that Jack had been forced to consume a symbiote; she'd seen it with her own eyes, though at the time she had questioned the veracity of it, had even considered that it might be a hallucination caused by the sarcophagus. But, Jack coughing up blood in her arms was proof positive that it was real, too real.

From what she knew about Goa'uld physiology, its blood was acidic – not counting the various chemical compounds the symbiote was able to manufacture to control its host. When Baal had forced Jack to eat one, its blood must have caused a chemical burn in his mouth and stomach. Based on that information, she realized that was the root cause of the blisters on his mouth and the blood he was vomiting. And if he had gotten any down his airway, then his condition would be even more critical.

"I don't think I have a choice."

A long sigh escaped from Jack's open lips. "No . . . please." An almost unperceivable tremor traveled down his bare back.

Sam nibbled her bottom lip. Baal wanted Jack alive and would soon take matters into his own hands anyway. In the meantime though, he shouldn't suffer like this just to avoid the inevitable. "I'm sorry, Jack."

She bent down and kissed his forehead, and then slid out from under him. This time it was her turn to avoid his eyes as she lowered his unresisting head to the floor and stood.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the cell door that shimmered with the force field. "Hey you," she addressed the Kull Warrior who stood guard to one side of the door. "I need to talk to your boss."

He said nothing, only stared at her. But then it would be hard to tell just what it was thinking with the black facemask it wore. It must have done something though because Baal soon appeared with a guard of his own.

Baal's eyes raked her up and down and his lip curled in a sneer. "You wished to see me, female?"

"It's General O'Neill. He's pretty sick."

"It is not surprising, the Tau'ri are noted for their fragile nature. Why do you tell me this?"

"He's dying."

"You do not wish him to die?" Baal cocked his head to one side as if measuring her. Automatically, her back stiffened.

"I know that you don't." Sam matched him stare for stare, her blue eyes to his brown.

"What are his wishes on this?"

As if he didn't already know, she thought, But it would do her – and Jack – no good if she angered Baal. Unfortunately, much as it galled her to admit it, she needed him.

"Since when does that matter? You and I both know he's important to you, too important to not revive – unlike me."

He chuckled. "So he told you?"

"Of course he did."

"You are unusually perceptive for a mere female." He accented the last words, his lips curling around them with distaste.

Sam lifted her chin for her return volley. "You are unusually stupid for a snakehead."

Baal's eyes flashed with anger. "Do not tempt me, female. O'Neill may not be able to save you next time." He turned to the Warrior at his side. "Take him to the sarcophagus."

Sam stood back and watched as it picked Jack up as easily as if he were a child and cradled him in his arms. Jack was silent during the whole ordeal, his arms dangled limply at his side as the Warrior left the cell. She had saved Jack's life, so why did she feel like she'd betrayed him?

xXx

She watched dispassionately as her sister was taken away. It didn't matter, that's what she told herself. At least her sister felt no pain anymore. She was the last one remaining now. All seven of her sister's had died, some more quickly and painfully than the others.

However, it was lonely without them and she wondered what her future would bring. Her fingers traced the brand on the inside of her arm that designated her as AGT-4/8. She been told it meant Ancient-Gene-Tau'ri-Four-Of-Eight. The sister who had just died had been A-G-T-Seven-Of-Eight.

Her world was limited to a small room that contained everything she needed to survive, a pallet to sleep on, a blanket, and a toilet. Tasteless food was served twice a day and she consumed it because she was told to. It was a rule, and rules were to be obeyed – immediately and without question.

In the beginning the room had been very crowded with seven of her sisters there with her, now it seemed huge and empty in comparison. She missed them.

Visitors to her world consisted of men in gray jumpsuits who exclaimed over her continued survival, black-suited guards who said nothing and a man whose eyes flashed when he was angry. He was always angry, despite the fact that he laughed a lot – too much. Of all of them, that one scared her even more than the others, though she wasn't sure why.

When her sisters had laughed, it had been a joyful sound and she smiled at the memory. His laugh was hard as the floor under her feet, and made something inside her twang with fear.

He had watched as they took away her sister, her last companion. She had wanted to cry, but had knuckled away the tears. That would come later, when she was alone and pretending to sleep. It would not do to cry in front of that man, it was a rule – her own – but one she resolved not to break.

He stood in front of her now, and she studied the tips of his boots. She knew better than to look him in the eye – that also was a rule – not her own.

"Come with me, girl."

Though she didn't like him, she knew from her observations that he held the power of life and death over her, so she obeyed him. AGT-8/8 had not, and had died because of it. She shivered as she remembered the shaft of light that had speared her sister in the forehead, and the blood that had gushed from her nose, mouth, and ears. Her sister's cries still echoed in her dreams during the time of rest.

She followed him down the hallway, her eyes on the boot heels in front of her as was expected. Under lowered lids, her eyes darted from side to side, eager to view the world that opened up around her. Her curiosity, like that of her sisters, was strong and she'd had to work hard to conceal it. Each sight was new to her and expanded her knowledge and like a dry sponge, she absorbed it. When he stopped and gestured her into another cell, she did so without hesitation, though she would have liked to have seen more.

Someone else was already there, a stranger. When AGT-4/8 turned around, the force field already was on and the man who laughed too much stood outside it. He laughed, and she shuddered at the sound.

She – she was a she – was taller and looked different than those in the gray jumpsuits. She was a woman – yes, that was the word she wanted. The strange woman had shorter hair of a different color than her own longer reddish brown that brushed her shoulders. The strange woman's eyes were blue whereas her own were a dark brown.

"I brought you some company," said the man who laughed too much.

"Who is this?" the strange woman looked angry and AGT-4/8 cowered away from her into the farther corner.

She knew from experience that corners were safest, especially when someone was angry. Anger usually meant she had broken a rule and the consequence was painful. So many times anger came even though no rule had been broken.

AGT-4/8 drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. From her corner, she watched as the strange woman walked up to the doorway.

"You don't know?"

The stranger looked at her and AGT-4/8 hastily lowered her eyes. When nothing bad happened, she dared to look up again.

"Why should I?"

"Because you are unusually intelligent for a mere female."

As she watched, the man who laughed too much disappeared from view, leaving her alone with the strange woman. A shiver coursed through her and she wondered what was going to happen now. Whatever it was, she knew it would be painful. The rules and taught her that.

AGT-4/8 remained crouched in her corner, her hand over her mouth to stifle the whimper that rose unbidden in her throat. She was not allowed to cry, or make noise. It was against the rules and was bad, very bad.

When the strange woman turned to look at her, AGT-4/8 curled into a little ball. Maybe if she made herself small enough, she could disappear altogether and the strange woman wouldn't hurt her.

Above the loud pounding of her heart, AGT-4/8 heard the strange woman come closer and then stop in front of her. When she dared peek between her splayed fingers, the strange woman crouched in front of her. Despite her best efforts to stifle it, a whimper escaped her lips.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you."

AGT-4/8 jerked away when she felt a touch on her shoulder, but pain didn't follow so she raised her head cautiously, wary of a trap.

Her wide eyes watched as the strange woman smiled. That was not in the rules and hadn't happened before; the only one who smiled was the man with flashing eyes, the one who laughed too much. But this smile seemed different and she was pretty when she smiled – much prettier than the man who laughed too much.

"What's your name?"

"AGT-Four-Of-Eight," she replied with a timid voice. She knew the answer to that question, and that she must answer it. That was a rule. She also knew what came next, and held out her arm, underside up, for inspection.

The pretty woman took it in her hands and examined it. The grip on her skin was unexpectedly soft and AGT-4/8 sighed with relief. When it was released, she examined it and found no hint of redness or bruising, which was what usually happened whenever anyone touched her – like the men in the gray jumpsuits.

"My name's Sam."

"Sam?"

"And your name's AGT-Four-Of-Eight?"

"Yes," then she became bolder. "All my sisters are gone."

"Your sisters?"

"Yes, my sister, AGT-Seven-Of-Eight was taken away when she died. I am the last one."

"Where did you come from? I mean, how did you get here?"

She knew the answer to that question too, but was surprised that Sam asked it. Hadn't she seen it herself? Or was this a test? She knew about tests, and usually passed them. She would pass this one.

"The man with the flashing eyes brought me here."

"No, I mean, where were you before you came to this planet?"

She tensed for the expected punishment and dropped her eyes to the floor when she couldn't answer the question correctly. That was not allowed. When it didn't come, she relaxed a bit and dared to look up at the woman in front of her. This Sam was unusual, and did not seem to know the rules.

"I . . . I don't understand."

The strange woman called Sam sat cross-legged on the floor. "Come here so I can talk to you better."

Tentatively, AGT-4/8 uncurled from her corner and emulated her position on the floor. When Sam took her arm, she allowed it.

"What does this mean?" Sam's touch was gentle and non-demanding as she pointed to the marks on the young girl's arm.

She smiled with relief, she knew that answer as well as her own name, because its meaning had been drilled into her by sheer repetition. "It is my name – Ancient-Gene-Tau'ri-Four-of-Eight."

"Oh, I see. You're a clone?"

AGT-4/8 nodded and smiled – the smile she'd only shared with her sisters till now. "Yes, that is what the men in the gray jumpsuits call me."

xXx

Thor watched the red tell-tales on his sensors. According to the readings, O'Neill had been separated from Colonel Carter again. And the life signs had grown progressively fainter, the probability was high that he was in a sarcophagus – or soon would be.

That would further complicate an already complicated situation. O'Neill would need specialized care that was not available onboard the Daniel Jackson. Its medical facility was more than adequate for any medical emergency – provided you were an Asgard.

Thor moved the appropriate shells to initiate long-range communication. He knew of such a specialist and would send for him.

xXx

Jack opened his eyes and turned his head, once again he was surrounded by the lighted panels of the sarcophagus. "Second verse, same as the first," he muttered to himself.

He'd driven his parents and other assorted members of the 'establishment' 'round the bend in the past with repeated renditions of this particular ditty, 'Henry The Eighth' by Herman's Hermits. It wasn't quite as bad as 'Ninety-nine Bottles Of Beer On The Wall', but it was close. Besides, it gave him a sort of anchor, a tad of control, a feeling of being in charge. Even when he knew with utter certainty that he had none of that – at the moment.

Reluctantly, he started the drill by sitting up and looking around. Yep, Slime-Baal, present and accounted for with his ever-present Kull Warriors as the back-up chorus. Did he just dream that he'd escaped?

No, wait! He'd already done that – again . . . and again . . .and. . .

Another line of lyric spilled from his lips to distract him from that really, really bad thought. "I'm 'En-er-ree the eighth I am, 'En-er-ree the eighth I am, I am."

"Has your mind failed, O'Neill?"

Jack gave him a tight-lipped smile; perhaps he wasn't as powerless as he'd thought. "Nope, just singing. You have heard of singing, haven't you?" Not missing a beat, he pivoted and turned toward the cells. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't know the way.

"I got married to the woman next door, she's been married seven times before. And every one was an 'En-er-ree, 'En-er-ree! Never had a . . . something or a Sam. No Sam! I'm her eighth old man, I'm 'En-er-ree, 'En-er-ree the eighth I am, I am. 'En-er-ree the eighth I am." His hands directed the non-existent band as he built for the finale, "H-E-N-R-Y."

This was real close to the tried and true method of sticking one's fingers in one's ears and humming loudly. It also ensured that Baal wasn't harping on about the usual crap. I broke you before. . . I'll do it again in a heartbeat . . . Honor your god . . . What was your mission . . . and so on and so forth. Like a danged broken record. He was so not in the mood for that right now.

Just about to launch into the third verse – not the same as the first – he arrived at his cell. The well-remembered words died on his lips when he saw who awaited him there.

Sam was there, but someone else too, who looked . . . oddly familiar. It was a girl, prepubescent by the looks of her. Sam was on the floor talking to her, but when they heard him, they stopped and looked up at him. He paused long enough to let the force field go down and then stepped inside.

At his approach, the girl scuttled back into the corner like a wild animal. From the little he could see of her, she looked underfed and scared to death. Her hair probably hadn't seen a good shampooing in quite some time; her reddish brown locks hung limply around her face and nearly obscured the dark brown eyes that peered fearfully up at him.

"Am I interrupting something?" His tiny little egg of 'being in control' died a quick death in the face of this new development.

"Jack, there's someone you need to meet," Sam looked nervous.

"Okay, I'm game. Who?"

He spared a glance behind him; Baal hadn't left yet and had a smirk on his face that set all his alarm bells ringing. Something was up, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't like it either. So what else was new?

Still, there was no need to scare the poor little thing half to death, so he plastered a smile on his face and watched Sam as she turned to the waif in the corner.

"It's all right, you can come out. Jack won't hurt you."

He wished Sam wouldn't go making promises like that for him, but decided he could take that up with her later. Just because she looked harmless didn't mean she couldn't be used to take out an entire planet – case in point, Cassie and Rya'c.

Sam's soothing voice did the trick though and the girl unfolded and stood in the corner, her brown eyes almost too big for her face. He saw the hint of a dimple that would show when she smiled, if she ever did and an awful suspicion took root in his mind.

By now, the girl stood next to Sam who had one arm draped protectively around her thin shoulders. "Jack, I'd like you to meet my friend, AGT-Four-Of-Eight."

"Nice to meet cha," Jack crouched in front of her and stuck out his hand.

When she stared at it with a puzzled look on her face, he smiled and turned the gesture into a touch of her hair. From what he could see at first glance, it had a natural part caused by a cowlick in the front. Jack knew from experience how much havoc that sort of thing played with haircuts and how it would never do what it was supposed to.

It surprised him when the little thing allowed his touch, and told him a lot about how she'd been treated in the past. He brushed the hair away from her eyes and noted the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks – that teased at his memory.

"Jack, you need to see this," Sam held out the girl's arm and showed him the letters branded onto the skin. "She told me they stand for Ancient-Gene-Tau'ri-Four-Of-Eight." Her blue eyes held hints of pain and sorrow as well as what looked suspiciously like pity flashed across her face.

Jack's eyes were pulled from Carter's blue ones to the child's. His eyes looked back at him from her face. His face, only . . . Charlie, Reetou Charlie, Mini-Me and all the others that had suffered because of him flashed across that pinched little face.

"She's you, Jack – only a girl."

Duh, oh. No matter how dense he could be considered, he'd recognized himself – and he . . . she stood right in front of him. Courtesy of the local snake god, the same slimy worm that held his soul hostage to his inability to not totally close his heart to others. If he were still that hard-assed son of a bitch that West had sent to Abydos, this new development wouldn't be a problem. But he was not that man; he had never been that man. And unfortunately, that would prove a problem too.

Furious, Jack straightened out of his crouch and stalked back to the doorway. All his careful maneuvering with Baal burned away by the pain that another innocent suffered when it should be him.

"What's the matter, splashing around in your own gene pool wasn't enough for you?" Jack's finger stabbed the air millimeters from the crackling force field that separated him from the subject of his ire. "You had to dick around with mine too? You just couldn't resist, could you, Slime-Baal?"

Baal's smile broadened, his teeth bared in an expression that screamed 'mistake' to the back of Jack's brain, only he'd stopped listening. Only when Baal's eyes flicked to Carter and the child behind him did her hear the warning. Oh crap!

xXx

To Be Continued


	10. Chapter 10

xXx

Once again I have JoleneB to thank for lending her talent for being quite "descriptive". Her words have added just the right amount of spice to flavor this story. I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I loved writing it. Dinky

xXx

Horrorstricken, Sam watched the scene play out between Jack and Baal, and knew where it would end – the only way it could end given this particular Goa'uld's insight into the general's character. Jack's features instantly transformed from an almost incoherent rage to dread as he seemed to realize what he'd said – and to whom he'd said it.

Sam watched the blood drain from his face as he pivoted in place and stared at her, his eyes bleak with dismay. Just for that instant he bared his soul to her, his neutral mask of non-emotion already slamming into place as he pivoted back, Jack's apology plain in that tumultuous unguarded emotive communication to her.

Baal's chuckle ensured he had his captive's full attention – all of them. AGT-4/8 whimpered as she ducked behind Sam's legs. Her maternal instinct automatically came to the fore as she reached out and patted the frightened child on the shoulder, an empty form of reassurance that she had no way of implementing.

Jack remained where he was; his nose virtually touched the force field that sent warning arcs of electricity through the air. "No," he shouted. "I'm not doing it anymore."

"Is your word worth so little then?"

"Promises made under duress mean nothing, you know that," Jack retorted, his lips taut with anger. To the watching Sam, the only crack in his otherwise poker face seemed designed to limit the snake's pleasure if only a little.

As for her, Sam felt like she was at a tennis match and she was the ball as the two foes hurled volleys back and forth across the net of the force field. She had the feeling that they wouldn't be shaking hands at the end of the match either.

"I know that you promised your cooperation in exchange for the safety of your mate, O'Neill," Baal objected in reasonable and dulcet tones; Sam thought he would have been equally at home in any corporate boardroom or courtroom if the situation hadn't been so serious. "I have been extremely lenient despite your repeated transgressions."

"Compared to what? Huh? You've threatened to stick a snake in Carter's head and butchered her on the operating table . . . and you call that being lenient? Well I'm tired of you and all your games. I'm not playing anymore."

Jack's hands were fisted at his sides and he looked like he wanted to wrap them around the Goa'uld's neck – probably because that's exactly what he wanted to do. Not that Sam could blame him.

The girl at Sam's side whimpered and she gave her a tense smile and patted her once again. AGT-4/8 dimpled with a return smile that surprised the older woman.

"You continue to try my patience, Tau'ri. Understand this, I am your god, and hold the power of life and death over your mate and the girl. However, since you care so little for their welfare . . ." He turned to the Warriors. "Restrain him and take the others away. I care not if they are harmed."

"Over my dead body, Dirt-Baal," Jack snarled and leaned forward, his entire body tensed for the upcoming confrontation – the one that Sam knew he was forcing out into the open.

"That can be arranged, as you well know," Baal smiled, with an eagerness that sickened as well as mesmerized Sam.

"Bring it on, Dirt-Baal, what's one more time in the sarcophagus when it's like a second home to me already," Jack's voice sounded dead, as if he'd already breathed his last and didn't care if he ever woke up again.

Sam swallowed hard and squeezed the shoulder of the girl who still clung to her legs like a barnacle. She knew Jack well enough to know what was on his mind, and it wasn't life, at least not his own. He was more than willing to sacrifice himself for her and the little girl.

She'd witnessed his brand of self-sacrifice far too many times not to know what he planned to do. With a heavy heart, she also realized she knew what she had to do – and the effect it would have on Jack.

As Sam watched in disbelief, Baal stepped back and two Kull Warriors took his place directly in front of Jack. Then, as the force field disappeared, Jack flung himself at them, his outstretched hands scrabbling with their sheer bulk, as he tried to win past. They stood fast as if carved in obsidian, and seemingly without effort, pinned his arms to his side.

That attack thwarted, Jack lashed out with his legs, and caught Baal unprepared. The Goa'uld hastily retreated out of range and raised his arm that held the hand device. Its ruby jewel glowed crimson and then a shaft of golden light impacted Jack's forehead.

He grunted with pain and stiffened, his eyes riveted on the cause of his torment. Beads of sweat immediately appeared across his face, evidence of his struggle to deny Baal a glimpse of the pain he caused. Only a determined expression there, his eyes locked with this monster that Sam knew far too well still strode through his nightmares like the avenging god that he personified.

Sam could take no more. Nothing was worth this torment, not even her own life. Her lover had already surrendered more than he ever should, more than she feared he could afford.

As for the child who clung to her in fright, she was reasonably certain that Baal would spare her for she was the last of the clones. Baal needed AGT-4/8 – and Jack – but as for herself, she was honest enough to realize that her own life was meaningless where Baal was concerned.

But she was through with being a by-stander and would not be Jack's price anymore. She was not going to stand by and allow Jack to sell his soul – or die – for her.

"Stop it!"

Clutching the hand of the child who struggled to hide behind her Sam strode toward Jack, who was now on his knees, his face upturned toward the punishing beam of the hand device. The skin of his bare back and shoulders dewed with the sweat of his refusal to submit meekly to the punishment Baal doled out. Her heart quickened at his strength and it served to reinforce her resolve. If he continued to fight against all odds, could she do any less?

"I'll go with you – just leave Jack alone. Okay?" She shouted the words, frantic to get Baal's attention on her and away from Jack. She sighed with relief when Baal's eyes turned to her, his smile as wintry as Antarctica.

"Very well," Baal nodded and the beam retreated back to its home in the ruby of the hand device and Jack collapsed to the floor.

Sam knelt beside him, and AGT-4/8 hunkered down beside her, as if glued to her side. Loath to provide Baal with a glimpse into their feelings for one another, she restrained her fingers from combing through the damp hair of Jack's heaving chest by balling them into a fist where her nails bit into the flesh of her palm.

Instead she brushed his forehead with her fingertips, careful to avoid the circular sunburn that was a telltale sign of the hand device. Despite her best efforts, her touch elicited another groan from Jack.

"Sam?"

"I'm here, Jack."

"Don't go," he opened bloodshot eyes and sought her face. "Please."

Sam jumped when she felt Jack's long fingers softly stroke her thigh, out of sight, secretly; practiced at expressing his want and his need for her in the most public of places. Then she leaned into it, hungry for his touch.

"I have no choice," she bent down to whisper her words.

"I order you not to, Carter," Jack licked dry cracked lips that split when he tried a parody of a smile. His reassuring strokes ended as the pads of his fingers pressed into her leg, almost painful in his silent plea for compliance.

"Sorry, that won't work either, Jack." She smiled, but her heart wasn't in it. "Besides what are you gonna do, general? Put me on report? Put a reprimand in my file?"

"Latrine duty?" he murmured. Chill air bit into her as his fingers fell away in surrender, a connection she did not wish to have severed.

"Let me carry my weight. I can do it, and if it doesn't work . . ." She nibbled her lower lip nervously, "well, at least I know I did my best. But I won't let you carry me anymore."

"But I'm supposed to protect you, Sam." Her name escaped his lips in a soft sigh, almost imperceptible to her ear, but she heard it nonetheless – and the entreaty that it contained.

"I know, but you can't do it this time." She inwardly smiled at the slight whine in his words and let her thumb briefly brush his lips. "You do know what you mean to me, remember that, Jack O'Neill. I am not saying good-bye, because I have every intention of coming back to you. You won't be rid of me that easily."

Hidden, as secretly as his touch had been, she squeezed that wayward thumb in her fingers. Fleetingly, she offered him the reassurance he would never ask for, even of her, and solicited for his trust at the same time. She was determined that this would not be the end for them. Not if she had anything to say about it, and she had plenty to say to a certain woman-hating Goa'uld who was the bane of their existence.

Then Sam stood and took the hand of AGT-4/8 and walked out of the cell and stopped in front of Baal. "I'm ready now."

xXx

"How touching, your mate remains loyal to you, even though you put so little value on her welfare," Baal gloated with glittering eyes. There was no doubt about it – the scum-sucking bastard was in his element.

Jack said nothing, what could he say in the face of Sam's decision to take matters into her own hands? He just hoped that she knew what she was doing, and survived the experience.

Now that the showdown had passed, Jack felt totally wrung out, and devoid of any emotion. He didn't bother to get up, not that he had the energy to perform such a task at the moment anyway. So from his position on the floor, he watched with hooded eyes as Baal nodded and gestured to the Warriors who surrounded Sam and the girl.

"Sam?" the upturned face of the child who so trustingly held her hand in a death grip looked scared.

Shame bit deeply into his heart at the sight, it took long moments to realize Sam was being true to herself and all he could do was the same. The realization was a distant second to his being able to ensure her safety though.

"It's okay honey. We're just going for a walk – that's all."

The little girl nodded but didn't look like she believed her. Well, that just showed Jack that she was a chip off the old block. He didn't believe Sam either. As they walked out of sight, he propped himself up with one arm, his ears strained to hear anything that he could.

It was hard to hear over the pounding of his heart, but he did the best he could. For a few moments, he heard nothing but the retreating steps of the Kull Warriors. Then he heard a familiar voice, one that filled him with dread.

"Stop her!" It was Baal, and he sounded upset. That was so not a good thing where Sam was concerned. Jack's throat constricted and he swallowed hard.

The Goa'uld's voice was followed almost immediately by the sound of blasts of energy being unleashed – once, twice, then three times. Then he heard a high-pitched whimper that was quickly stifled. It was the sound a scared child would make, not a grown woman like Sam.

He held his breath; afraid the sound would prevent him from hearing what had happened – though he had an inkling of what it was. But he heard only a chuckle, one made low in the throat. He knew only one person – or thing – that laughed like that.

"Take the girl away and dispose of the body of this female."

Jack sat stunned into immobility; Baal's words reverberated in his mind. No, it couldn't be. There must be some mistake. She promised that she'd be back – she'd promised him and she always came back. She said she could take care of herself. Just like the hopped up rabbit on batteries, she took a licking and kept on ticking. Always there, had always kept him from self-destruction, from losing hope – from giving up.

Down the hallway, Jack heard something being dragged over the floor and gulped. Sam . . . Carter, his second in command, the one who always pulled a last minute rescue out of her butt – but not this time. Jack damned the snake – and damned himself even more.

Sam was gone, dead. His arm slid out from under him and he let it because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Dully, he banged his head against the stone he lay on and wondered why he felt no pain.

The snakehead had settled his score with him, just as he'd threatened to do. He'd taken away the one person that had kept him from throwing in the towel and giving up. Yeah, he pretended, but while she lived, there was hope, even for a jaded has-been jet jockey like him.

His mouth opened and closed on words that stuck in his throat. He blinked, and the tears that flooded his eyes overflowed and coursed unnoticed down his cheeks.

"Sam," he whispered and shook his head in violent denial balled fists slamming against the unyielding stone harder and harder with each sobbing breath.

"No, this can't be happening," he whispered hoarsely, sucking in the salty tears in the process. His grief lent him the energy to rise – first to his knees, then to his feet. Jack stood with his legs braced to fight an enemy that was out of his reach.

"No!"

He screamed the word and staggered to the wall in a daze. All reason burned from him, only an animal's rage was left. His fist impacted the wall again and again; his eyes saw only the face of the snake who'd taken Sam away from him, despite his best efforts to prevent it. Baal's face morphed into Sam's and his jackhammer fist stopped in mid-flight, then dropped to his side. His insides, the place his heart had lived – and died – flash frozen in that instant.

"Oh Sam, you promised," he whispered as a sob escaped his painfully clenched teeth.

This was just another promise that had been broken in a long line of such, courtesy of the resident snakehead. That inability of his to toe the hard line, if Jack had sent her away that night in the first place, she wouldn't have been there when they came for him. She wouldn't be dead – because of him.

He stopped and looked at the wall, now smeared in crimson, bits of his own flesh hung raggedly from his mangled knuckles. It was only right that he suffered, but he would get that snake and punish him for what he'd done, if it were the last thing he did . . . that was a promise he intended to keep. Deep below his frozen heart the rage built, he still couldn't believe she was gone. Somehow he felt her, but he knew, he'd heard . . .

Distracted he surveyed the room and noticed a bit of damp rag in the corner; Sam had torn it from her shirt and used it to wipe his forehead with her fingers that were so tender, so loving, so forgiving. He wondered how any woman could touch him after all the distasteful things he'd done in his life. The cloth was probably dry now, but it had been hers.

Jack took shambling steps toward the rag, picked it up with trembling hands and held it to his cheek. His only remembrance of her, evidence that she existed here – 'had' existed here.

Once again the tears came as the awful truth settled onto his heart, making it stutter within his chest, it broke the ice jam there and allowed the eruption of rage that dwelled and simmered there freedom – gave him freedom. What was life without Sam?

"Noo!" His howl of denial and rage bounced crazily around the cell and found outlet through the shimmering curtain that sealed him into it. Savagely the vapor of his incinerated heart barreled down the hall, careening from the walls like a torrent of liquid rock, seeking the snake he could not reach.

His eyes followed the sound out the door and then he flung himself after it, desperate to fulfill his last mission. When his body impacted against the force field, it hung there for a nanosecond, wreathed in crackling unholy energy like some avenging avatar before it flung him back, senseless to the floor.

When he regained consciousness moments later, it was to discover that his wrists were encircled with shackles that ended in a hook on the wall. Frenzied, he attempted to jerk himself free.

Only exhaustion quelled his efforts, rivulets of hot blood from his lacerated wrists trickled down his corded arms, pooled against his neck and collar bone, and then drained coolly down his heated skin along his ribs to drip loudly upon the floor.

Baal stood over him and Jack lolled his head around to look up at him from his seated position against the wall. He idly wondered if he could kill him with a kick to something vital. If only he could move his leg, but it seemed super-glued to the floor.

"You did not think I would allow you to continue your impetuous behavior; did you?"

Jack shrugged carefully and then winced when the jewelry dug into his wrists and pulled at his shoulders. Every muscle felt sore, probably a side-effect of running headlong into an active force field – go figure.

"I'd considered it."

"The female's body was given to the carrion birds."

The over-dressed snakehead that had a thing for boots had an air of anticipation about him, like he expected a whole shit-load of bowing and scraping. He got only silence as Jack bit down the rage and despair those carefully calculated words had caused to well up inside him. It was better to store it for when the opportunity presented itself, then it could be unleashed when he strangled Baal with his bare hands and danced on the bloody remains.

"You have nothing to say, O'Neill?" Baal prodded.

"What do you want me to say?" His eyes blazed up at his tormentor and then he dropped his gaze too weary to put up much of a fight. There was always tomorrow. "What is there to say?"

Baal clasped his hands behind his back and circled Jack. "There is the matter of the girl."

"What of her?" Jack was wary of what was coming; yes she would be a liability, one that Baal wouldn't hesitate to use. And as usual, he didn't have to wait long for the other shoe – or in this case, boot – to drop.

"As your clone, she carries the Ancient gene."

"Yeah? And . . . therefore? Come on, spit it out, Slime-Baal," Jack snarled, surprised he had the energy to do that much. "Don't be shy."

"She requires training that only you can provide."

"Or you'll do what?" Jack tilted his head up to study Baal's face. "Kill her? Is that what you're trying to say?" He felt the trap snap shut on him, the snake had him the short-and-curlies – again.

"Good, you know what is expected of you," Baal purred. "See that you train her well."

Jack couldn't stop himself; he slumped in his chains – defeated. Another life now held him hostage to the reptilian god his world revolved around. The only way to end it was to die. Only how did he go about doing that? No, that wasn't' right. He had no problem dying, Baal would gladly oblige him – and had – too many times to count. The problem was to stay dead.

Baal's footsteps, as he retreated down the hall, were like mocking laughter at the whole notion that this nightmare would ever end. Only blind luck and a not-quite-dead-and-departed friend turned glowy had ended it last time. He had no one in his corner this time.

Sam . . .

He let the tears fall unfettered. He was so screwed.

xXx

To Be Continued


	11. Chapter 11

Once again JoleneB and I have served up a nice helping of whump for Jack. Enjoy! Dinky

xXx

Thor prowled the periphery of the planetary system that held Tartarus, in search of the perfect weapon that would do what his own weapons could not, destroy or at the very least, cripple Baal's shield generator.

The inspiration for this gambit could be laid directly at the feet of the Goa'uld, though the likelihood that any would admit to such a subterfuge was highly unlikely. While he would not go so far as to impregnate the chosen missile with nacquada, he would give it a gentle nudge to send it on the proper trajectory.

Thor blinked as he studied the asteroids that swirled and milled about in front of his vessel. O'Neill had introduced him to a game that involved propelling circular objects around a green-lined table – pool. The rules of this game would apply to this exercise, though on a different scale because of the greater distance involved.

When Thor spotted the rocks that would suit his purpose, he turned on his tractor beam, reversed its polarity so it could be used as a stick then pushed it toward a larger one. He held his breath as his bank shot rebounded and headed in another direction – toward Tartarus.

Another nudge from his tractor beam and its speed increased. It was large enough that the Daniel Jackson could follow unseen in its wake. This rock would impact the shield generator in a matter of hours and once it was off-line, he would offer the services of his vessel to the inhabitants of Baal's stronghold – it was, after all, the civilized thing to do.

"Eight ball in the corner pocket," Thor said with grim satisfaction.

O'Neill would appreciate the metaphor as well as the magnitude of this particular game. The Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet just hoped he had the chance to tell his human friend about it.

xXx

Sam eyed the spoonful of gray glop with suspicion and sniffed it. "Do you actually eat this stuff?"

AGT-4/8's sigh seemed heavily tinged with impatience, "Of course I do, Sam. It's a rule." She paused in her own eating and took a deep breath. "Rule number two: Eat your food when it's given to you so you can remain healthy and strong for your tasks," she parroted, in a way that tugged desperately at Sam's heart.

Then her spoon disappeared into her mouth as she polished off the last bit in her bowl and used her finger to clean off the residue. She sucked that same finger off and licked her lips in mock relish. Sam was certain that if others had been present, none of this behavior would have been evident. And that told her she had won enough of the girl's trust to display her true personality.

Two bowls of the stuff had been brought to them soon after they'd arrived in the new cell, the home of AGT-4/8 from the looks of the pallet in the corner and the girl's reaction. She had released her tight grip on Sam's hand once the force field had snapped into place and poked about in various corners before rejoining her.

Sam dipped her finger into the mess on her spoon and tasted it, she was right; it did taste as bad as it looked, if not worse. No doubt it fulfilled the nutritional requirements for a growing girl, but it still looked and tasted like . . . crap. Sam put the spoon back into the bowl and set them aside.

"No, you must eat it," AGT-4/8 objected. "If you don't, there will be consequences – bad ones."

"Consequences? Such a big word for you; do you know what that means?"

AGT-4/8 rolled her eyes. "Of course, consequences are what happens when you don't follow the rules."

Sam smiled, "That's what it means all right. Who usually makes the bad things happen – I mean – the consequences?"

The girl scooted up close to Sam so that their thighs were touching and took her hand in her own; and in a voice far too serious for her age, explained, "The man who laughs too much – he makes bad things happen – sometimes even when a rule hasn't been broken."

"The man who laughs too much? Oh, you mean Baal?"

AGT-4/8 nodded solemnly, "He will be angry if you don't eat, and bad things happen when he's angry."

"Okay, I'll eat it, but not right now. I'll eat it later – okay?"

"Okay, later is good I guess," she replied with a shrug, and then snuggled up to Sam; all the while keeping a firm grip on her hands as if she were afraid that the older woman would leave it she released them. To Sam's amazement the girl's long fingers weren't that much shorter than her own, but then considering the gene source, she shouldn't have been surprised.

"AGT-4/8 . . ." Sam paused, "No, that's not a proper name for a pretty girl like you."

"But that's been my name for as long as I can remember," she held out her branded arm as a reminder and proof of her statement. "See? It says my name right here." One soon to be elegant forefinger dimpled the pale skin of her skinny arm.

"That's what you would call an experiment or a piece of equipment – not a person," Sam said as she wrapped her hands around the thin arm to cover the mark of ownership. She maintained her hold, paused, and looked off into the distance with consideration. "But what will it be? Do you have any ideas?"

The girl's brown eyes were impossibly wide in her thin face and her expression suddenly reminded her of who she'd been modeled after . . . Jack. Her face looked bewildered – or bored, depending on whom you asked – the same expression Sam had seen when she'd tried to explain how a wormhole worked, or how excited she was about the latest refinements to her nacquada reactor.

That gave Sam an idea for a name, one that would not only fit her better, but would acknowledge the relationship between Jack and AGT-4/8. "I know – how about Jackie?"

"Jackie?" Her voice sounded small and uncertain. "But it is against the rules and breaking the rules is bad, very bad."

"Your new name will be a secret, just between us two . . .and one other person."

Those expressive brown eyes narrowed and a familiar crease appeared between her dark eyebrows. "What other person?" The words were riddled with caution and reminded Sam that she did not as of yet, have the girl's complete trust.

"The man who was in the cell with us, he's . . . well I suppose for want of a better word, he's your father."

"My father? What's that?" Her face showed an impossible mix of attentive incomprehension; that same blank, yet eager, expression Sam had only seen on one other face.

"A father is the man who looks like you, because you are his offspring, his child."

The crease between Jackie's brows ravined and she smiled uncertainly.

Sam licked her lips to stall for time. How did you explain who and what parents were to someone who'd never been around anything like it? "Did the men in gray jumpsuits explain to you about your name – why you and your sisters looked exactly alike?"

"Yes, they said we were clones, and had the same genetic background," Jackie's head bobbed with agreement.

"Holy Hannah!" Sam felt like slapping her forehead with her palm, of course they would have done that. They would have wanted to brag about their accomplishment to someone, who better than the captive audience of their creations, the clones?

"Your genetic material was taken from the man who was with us in the other cell. That's why you look so much like him."

"Oh, I think I understand," she nodded slowly. Sam could almost see the glowing light bulb above her head.

"His name is Jack . . . Jack O'Neill. That's why I named you Jackie."

"And he will know our secret too?"

"Yes, but only if you tell him, because I don't think Baal will let me see him."

"Why not?"

"It's kind of complicated. Baal doesn't like Jack and wants him to believe that I'm dead so he'll be sad."

The thin shoulders shrugged and she looked away, but not so fast that Sam didn't catch a familiar glimpse of pain flash over her features. "I don't know if I want to do that. Jack seemed angry and sad at the same time."

"When Jack has to do things so that Baal won't hurt us, he feels sad and angry at the same time. But he really is a good person and wouldn't harm you or me."

Jackie gave her a look of disbelief from beneath hooded lids that was pure Jack and it brought a grin to Sam's face. She squeezed her in a hug.

"Jack wasn't angry at you. He was angry because he knew Baal would hurt us if he didn't do some bad things for him. He would rather be hurt himself than allow anybody to do that to us."

Evidently, that explanation made sense to her, because she nodded. "I thought Baal was going to kill both of us in the hallway."

"So did I, so did I."

"So the man who laughs too much," Jackie looked down and picked up her spoon. Then she began tapping the floor nervously with it, "I mean Baal – wants Jack to think that you're dead so that he will do more bad things for him?"

'Yes, that's it exactly."

"And you want me to tell Jack that you're not really dead so that he won't be sad anymore?" Just a hint of suspicion crept into the words, like Jackie expected a shoe to drop at any moment that would make the request more complicated, and dangerous that it sounded.

Sam nodded, "Uh huh, if you feel like it, that is," reluctant to push for fear that her evident conditioning might be triggered. She might be an O'Neill, but was still just a child.

"I think I can do that, so long as Baal doesn't catch me," she smirked, her whole face suddenly alight with mischief.

"Good, I wouldn't want Baal to catch you either. He can be pretty scary sometimes, not to mention obnoxious and downright mean." Sam grinned at the shared sense of adventure the idea kindled in them both.

Jackie's eyes strayed with an obvious longing to the still-untouched bowl of food and then to Sam. "I'm still hungry; can I have some of your food? I won't tell anyone that I ate it."

Sam smiled with encouragement, "Sure, Jackie, eat as much as you want. It will be our secret."

She watched the child dig into the so-called food with a gusto that said she was used to being hungry and her heart ached at the thought that any child – least of all Jack's child – would suffer such hunger. And small wonder about that, Jackie was probably only given enough to prevent starvation. But the fact that Sam and Jackie been fed at all argued for the premise that Baal wanted them alive, despite everything he'd told her and Jack.

Her mind replayed the scene in the hallway after the Warriors had escorted her and Jackie out of the cell. They'd come across a female slave, scrubbing the floor with such diligence that she might have been completely alone.

Baal had stopped in front of the woman, who had continued to wash the floor with her rag. He had looked first at Sam, and then at the woman. Then he'd smiled – an awful smile that sent shivers down her spine.

"Stop her!"

His shout had taken Sam by surprise and she'd jumped. A tiny gesture from the Goa'uld evidently signaled the nearest Warrior to fire three bolts of energy . . . not at her and Jackie – who had stuffed her fist into her mouth to smother her scream – but at the unsuspecting woman bent over her task.

Without a sound, the poor thing had collapsed in a smoldering heap on the floor. Jackie's whimper of fear had escaped despite her best efforts to prevent it and Sam had tucked her protectively behind her.

Baal's eyes had flashed golden and his smile turned feral. "Take the girl away and dispose of the body of this female." His voice had been loud – loud enough for Jack to hear.

Sam had wanted to say something – anything to let Jack know that she still lived – but couldn't, not with a terrified child held hostage to her good behavior. Now she had a better idea of how Jack felt when Baal had used her in much the same way to ensure he behaved.

She now knew, too late, that she had been too hard on him, and regretted the idea that Jack had only felt her disappointment in him before – what was to him – her death. She hoped that he would not have to endure that knowledge for long, as she knew he would use it to create his own lonely and very private hell. One even Baal could not conjure on his best day.

Chances were good that Baal would take Jackie back to Jack's cell, and that would provide a way to let him know that she was still alive. Sam didn't like using Jackie like that, especially if it put her in danger, but it was the only feasible method available. The only way to free the man she loved, to break the bindings only he could place upon himself. And that would allow him to burst those lesser bonds Baal held him in, to give them all a fighting chance to get out of this mess alive.

xXx

She and her sisters were playing. The sound of their laughter brought a smile to her own lips as she joined in. But then the laughter stopped and her sisters disappeared, one by one, until they were all gone except for her. Any reason for joy was gone, taken away with the bodies of her sisters.

She bit back a sob and then stuffed her blanket into her mouth to prevent its escape. Crying was against the rules – her own and those of her dead sisters. And she would not cry in front of the man who laughed too much, Baal.

According to the marks on her arm, she was AGT-4/8. But . . . she liked the name Jackie, far, far more. Yes, she had shared the old name with her sisters, and while it lasted, that had been okay. However, this new name, and the idea that she was the genetic offspring of the man, Jack, that . . . that was a gift beyond her wildest dreams. And Sam had told her this, had given her the name, a name that deep down, felt right, and, and . . . Sam was nice. It had to be true; it just had to be.

She scrunched up into a tighter ball against the knowledge that all her dreams had died in this room and a sob hiccupped out past her usually iron control

Something tugged at her shoulder and she tried to burrow away from it, afraid that it meant pain; it always had in the past. Her pillow smelled good, and was much softer than usual. How did that happen? Sam . . . oh yes, it was Sam, her friend.

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Sam smiled at down at her and she smiled back. It felt good to smile.

"You have to wake up now."

She stretched her long arms and wrapped them around Sam's waist, and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted this dream to never end. "Why?"

"Baal is here," Sam nibbled her lower lip.

At those words, Jackie jerked her arms away from Sam and sat up, with a need to put distance between them. She had fallen asleep on Sam's lap and it had felt so good, so safe while it lasted. Of course it hadn't. Good things never lasted. There were consequences for having good things.

Jackie could see Baal outside her cell and he looked nervous. That was worse than when he laughed. She didn't look at Sam and remembered that her second sister had died when she had glanced at her after sharing some fun together. Fun was forbidden and good things were removed. She was determined that the only person that would pay for any good here was she.

"Come here, girl."

Jackie nodded and stood, blocking his view of Sam before she walked to the door. If there were consequences for falling asleep on Sam's lap, it would be her that faced them, not Sam. After all, she knew the rules and Sam didn't. She should have warned Sam, and because she hadn't . . .

"Follow me, girl."

Jackie remained silent and watchful, only when Baal stepped from view to drop the force field did she look back over her shoulder at Sam and try to silently reassure her. When the force field disappeared, she stepped out into the hallway and walked behind Baal.

Soon she recognized things from her previous trip and realized she was about to meet with the man who had supplied the genes that made her who she was – Jack or as Sam called him – her father.

She knew better than to ask where she was going and why – that was against the rules. Besides, she could figure it out for herself. She was good at that, and the men in the gray jumpsuits had said she was smart.

Baal stopped in front of a cell, the one where she'd first met Sam. When the force field flickered out of existence, she entered it on her own; she knew what was expected of her and did it, as quietly and efficiently as possible. She had made a promise to Sam and she intended to keep it. That was her new rule.

The man that Sam called Jack was there, and he slumped against the far wall with a set of manacles around his wrists.

She jumped when she heard Baal's footsteps behind her. "I have brought the girl for training."

"And if I can't teach her anything?"

Jackie froze in place but refused to flinch when steely fingers bit into her shoulder. As she watched, Jack sighed and let his head thump against the wall. "Yeah, I get the picture. I'll teach her."

"Good."

"What about these? It's kind of hard to teach anything like this," he raised his hands and the chain connecting him to the wall jingled.

"Very well, they will be removed."

The pressure of Baal's hand left Jackie's shoulder, and she blinked rapidly to clear her eyes of pain-caused tears, while distracting any observers by rotating her shoulder to work off the tension that had knotted her muscles. She pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve the pressure that threatened to blossom into a full-blown headache and used the gesture to flick away her tears. Baal's touch had always made her stomach do flip-flops – and would continue to do so.

When she looked into Jack's face, she saw him give a shadow of a grin. "You really are like me, aren't you?"

She shyly smiled back and finger-combed her unruly hair. A Kull Warrior pushed past her and unlocked the manacles from Jack's wrists and he rubbed them. When she noticed that his hands were crusted with dried blood, she clapped her hand over her mouth as Sam's meal made an escape attempt. Blood and consequences came together – and pain. They were a given in her world.

"What?" Jack rubbed his hands together and dull brown flakes fell to the floor. "The blood is mine, no one else's." He paused and looked her in the eye. He had nice eyes, nice like Sam's eyes. "It doesn't hurt," and he rotated his hands and flexed his fingers a few times as proof. Jackie didn't quite believe him.

"I shall return for the girl later. See that you teach her well," Baal's deep voice boomed in the otherwise silent cell and she edged closer to Jack. Something inside told her that she would be safe with him, the same something that told her to trust Sam.

"Yeah, whatever you say," Jack muttered and then he winked at her. "C'mere."

His hand beckoned to her and she sat facing him on the floor. Over and over, she reminded herself that Sam had said that he would not hurt her. Easy for her to say, experience told Jackie different.

"So you're called AGT-4/8?"

Jackie showed him the underside of her arm and nodded. His cheerful words sounded false to her sensitized ear, they were weighted with the same emotion that she had felt every time she had lost a sister. She didn't like that feeling at all. Not one bit.

Then she leaned forward. "But Sam calls me Jackie," she whispered.

Jack went very still, his face as blank as the stone floor she sat upon. Sweat trickled down her back, his dark eyes pinned her and she began to worry. Too much attention was always a bad thing. This was not good.

Jackie's heart stopped when the still man erupted into motion, his hands reached for her and memories of Baal's painful grip returned. Inside her chest her heart stuttered into a fast thumping pace and panic began to take hold.

Jack's arms closed around her and she could already feel the pain of her breath being squeezed from her lungs. A scream died half-born as he jerked her from the floor.

Sam promised he wouldn't hurt me. She promised!

xXx

To Be Continued


	12. Chapter 12

Once again I would like to thank JoleneB for spicing up the story and coming up with just the right cliff-hanger. Dinky

xXx

Thor watched with ill-concealed satisfaction as the asteroid neared its target. Suddenly, his view screen filled with the face of Baal. The Goa'uld did not look pleased, though Thor supposed he could not blame him.

"What is the meaning of your attack?"

"Attack?" Thor blinked several times in ostensible indignation. "I do not know what you mean."

"Do you mean to say that you had nothing whatsoever to do with the asteroid that even now threatens the safety of my world?"

"Precisely," Thor nodded and drummed his long fingers restlessly on the arm of his command chair. "I am willing to offer any assistance in the evacuation of your world – should you require it."

"Bah!" Baal looked like he had bitten into something sour. "You meddle in things that were best left alone." Then his image winked out.

Knowing Baal – and those of his kind – as he did, Thor continued to study the view screen. As expected, Baal's response was not long in coming. A lance of energy emanated from the surface of Tartarus, speared the asteroid and lingered there, until the point of impact glowed. Then the targeted asteroid exploded and rained jagged hunks of itself in an expanding arc of destruction.

Thor flinched as several collided with his vessel's shield and disintegrated on contact. His long thin fingers flew over his console as he located the remaining pieces of the asteroid and plotted their courses. Then he paused and blinked, one gray finger tapping the arm of his command chair in thought. Instead of one large asteroid, Baal now had several smaller rocks that would impact various sections of his stronghold.

As a consequence, the total destruction of the shield generator – the one thing that prevented the rescue of O'Neill and Carter – was not assured. Moreover, their safety and that of the beings that inhabited Tartarus, was questionable.

His forehead creased in thought as he monitored the objects that would soon rain destruction down upon Baal's stronghold. Its resemblance to the opening shot of a game of pool was vivid in Thor's memory. What seemed to be a confused mass of spinning and whirling chunks of pulverized gravel was in reality a gigantic puzzle with each piece having its own trajectory and impact point that could be readily plotted. According to his calculations, the first stones would cause little damage due to their smaller size. However, the larger ones would begin their assault within two hours.

His command console beeped for attention and Thor answered it. According to his instruments, the vessel that carried the Asgard specialist had just left hyperspace. He opened up a communications link.

"This is Thor onboard the 'Daniel Jackson'."

Thor's view screen showed another Asgard, this one smaller in stature. Unlike Thor's impassive facial features, this one's was animated to the extreme. As he watched the Asgard bob up and down Thor reflected that he felt old, or at the very least, tired whenever he had the occasion to be around the Asgard who had made it his life's work to study the physiology and emulate the mannerisms of the Tau'ri in general and O'Neill in particular.

"Howdy Thor, it's me, Ernie, back at cha from the medical research vessel, 'Janet Fraiser'. I came a' running as soon as you called. What kind of mess has Jack gotten into this time for crying out loud? "

What passed for a smirk was plastered on the Asgard specialist's face. To Thor it was a truly hideous expression, but had always caused O'Neill to grin with pride.

The Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet sighed but was determined that this would not 'get his goat.' Mentally he made a note to review just what a 'goat' was and why anyone would want to appropriate his.

"I am glad to see that you arrived, Eir. It is – as O'Neill would say – a long story." Thor rubbed his forehead and wondered if the headache that always accompanied the exuberant Eir's visits would continue to grow in intensity.

xXx

'But Sam calls me Jackie.'

The awe Jack felt was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Like a lamp switched on in a pitch-dark room, it revealed a world of wonder that was Sam.

She lived.

This child of his, that he could not deny, had told him in those few words. Only Sam would see – and know – to call her that.

Without any consideration, but to hold a living being, he scooped up this precious messenger and hugged her tightly; giddy – yes giddy – with the joy that his heart's reason for existence still breathed.

Tears that he'd refused to shed while he'd mourned her death were released to celebrate her life as well as the joy this child he'd never desired had given him.

Sam was alive.

But joy is always short-lived and the thin warm body that stiffened and shuddered in his arms brought him back to reality. Though he kicked and screamed defiance at the need, nonetheless, he returned to the harsh grim reality that he and this child must deal – and –live with.

But Sam was alive.

Carefully, he loosened his hold on the girl to settle her across his leg, his arm hooked behind her. Leaning into the wall at his back, he ducked his head to look into her face. What he saw there he'd seen before and he mentally kicked himself for it. Fear . . . of him . . . and of what he might do to her.

"Hey, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not hurting you . . . am I?"

He petted her head and watched as an eye peeked open to reveal a beautiful brown eye that peered at him in question.

"Come on now. Are you okay?"

The other eye popped open and in a flurry of arms and legs she pushed against his chest, tumbled onto the floor and scrabbled out of reach. That wasn't the smartest thing you've ever done O'Neill, he remonstrated with himself. You went ahead and scared the crap out of the poor thing. God knows she looks like she's already been through the mill and now she's convinced you just tried to squeeze her to death.

As he watched, she stuffed her fingers into her mouth and turned the whimper that threatened to escape into a muffled squeak. Taking a defensive position, she pushed herself as far back into the corner as possible. Her reaction made Jack's heart ache to see it, only experience could teach her that.

He held out both hands, palm up. "Listen, Jackie. I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just that when you told me about Sam – well I guess I got a little carried away." He smiled and tried to look harmless – though embarrassment and shame was a far more accurate description of his current feelings. He also felt more than a touch of anger, which he pushed down deep, at anyone who could mistreat a child so that they responded like that.

Jackie didn't look like she bought the harmless act – smart girl – so he tried another avenue of approach. He changed the subject to something safe, something she felt more comfortable with.

"How is Sam? I mean, is she okay?"

The fingers remained covering her mouth and above them were impossibly large dark eyes. She nodded slowly and Jack let out a breath of relief.

"When I heard those shots after Baal took you away. . ." he swallowed hard as the despair of those endless moments revisited him. "I thought she was dead."

"The man who laughs too much . . ." Jackie paused, her fingers of that same hand now twirled a piece of her reddish-brown hair around them, "I mean Baal . . . wanted you to think that. Sam said so." Her last statement was colored by a stubborn insistence – defiant.

"Sam's a pretty smart person, and if she told you that, then it's probably true. She's pretty smart about things like that," Jack reassured her, proud to see that the O'Neill genes stood strong in this victim of his own defiance.

"Sam said my name is our secret."

"Okay, I can keep a secret."

"It's against the rules to have a different name," she held up the underside of her brand-marred forearm to illustrate her point, and that increased Jack's retribution quotient that he would personally insist be paid in full by a certain smarmy snakehead who had a thing for black.

"And there are consequences when you break the rules," she continued somberly, her dark eyes huge in a thin face. Those eyes were old and held a depth that only those who had seen too much too soon contained.

"Consequences?"

"Uh huh," she nodded. "Bad things happen when you break the rules."

Jack nodded his understanding, his face solemn. "I understand. It'll be our secret."

"Can you come closer?" Jack paused and noted how Jackie's fingers abandoned the twisted strand of hair and flew back to her mouth. "You don't have to, but I figured if I'm supposed to be teaching you stuff, then we should sit close together, that's all."

Jackie's head tilted to one side but she remained where she was. He brooded on the situation and decided that he didn't blame her. After all, here he was, insisting that he was harmless with dried blood flaking off his hands and arms; notwithstanding that they were in a place where the only constant in her life was cruel treatment at the hands of others.

"Okay, you can stay there if you want. But I want to tell you I'm sorry for scaring you earlier."

"Sar-ree?" Her face screwed up in puzzlement, like. . . Nope not going there he thought and Jack quashed the image of the young eyes of his son, who'd died too young. Instead, he concentrated on the living – the here and now – and opened his heart in earnest apology.

"Yeah, I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"I don't understand."

"What?"

"What is . . . sar-ree?" Her expressive lips twisted around the unfamiliar word.

"You don't know what sorry means?"

Jack paused to collect his thoughts while he considered the implications of her statement. He realized it meant that she'd been mistreated on a regular basis – treated like an object – like a thing with no rights whatsoever. Therefore she had no expectation that she would be treated any better by anyone, to include him. It was a miracle that Sam had won Jackie's trust. His love for the woman expanded something he hadn't thought possible.

"Oh, well I suppose it means that I wish I hadn't hurt you – or even scared you. No one should hurt you because, well, they just shouldn't. You're just a kid and kids shouldn't be hurt – none of them."

"Oh." Then she cocked her head. "Why?"

"Why?" Jack paused to consider her question. "Because I said so, and it's not right to go around hurting kids like you. You don't like it, do you?"

"No, but it happens anyway." Her tone asked how anyone could be so dense as to even consider anything else. After all, she had lived with that reality every second of her short life.

"That doesn't make it right though," Jack frowned and then turned it into a smirk when he realized belatedly that Jackie might think he was mad at her. "Listen, I don't want anybody to hurt you – Baal included."

Jackie's eyes widened with disbelief and her palms rested on her hips. "And just how are you going to stop him?"

Jack's eyebrows knitted together. "I'll do whatever I have to do to stop him. You have my word on it."

A deep-throated chuckle drew the attention of the cell's occupants and Jack cursed himself for being so lax as to not notice they had a visitor.

"Don't you have better things to do than to spy on other people's conversations?" Jack spat, standing to face Baal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jackie squirm upright, trying to ooze through the wall – terrified. Without thought, Jack moved to shield her from the Goa'uld's gaze. Soft rapid footsteps told him whose hands clutched his thighs tightly. Soft hair tickled his hand as her small head peeked out from behind.

"Even one such as this knows the power of her god, foolish Tau'ri. You waste your time making promises that you cannot keep."

"Why should you care? What's the matter? Do you get your jollies by picking on kids who can't fight back?"

"Insolence! Why do you persist in provoking my ire when you have so little to gain – and so much to lose?" Baal's eyes flickered between Jack and the thin form he knew huddled behind the meager protection of his legs.

"Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?" Jack's eyes flashed dangerously as his chin lifted as if to take a hit.

"I?" Baal chuckled and fingered his goatee as if in thought. "No, I have not – as yet – harmed a hair on her head. However, my specialists have expressed a desire for a test subject for some of their more dangerous experiments . . ." he left the sentence unfinished but the threat implied was clear, as was his evident pleasure at the whole idea.

Jack opened his mouth to retort and his words died unsaid as the lights flickered ominously. Even more worrying was Baal's reaction. He frowned and turned off the force field.

"Attend me," Baal was once again flanked by multiple Kull Warriors. Then he turned to the occupants in the cell and gestured with impatience. "Come with me. We have little time."

The lights blinked off and stayed that way, the only light came from the flashing emergency lights. In the distance Jack heard explosions. His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms across his chest stubbornly, in unconscious imitation of Jackie's earlier pose. "What's going on?"

"Fool, there is no time for explanations! Come with me, now!"

Baal's eyes flashed golden. Behind Jack a whimper, quickly stifled, emanated from the child, nearly forgotten in this latest crisis.

In response to her distress Jack crouched and ducked his head toward Jackie careful to keep himself between her and Baal. Then he nodded and stood. "Uh, could you hold on a minute? The kid here needs to use the facilities."

Baal scowled. "Very well, but be quick about it!"

With his hand firmly on her shoulder, Jack shepherded Jackie toward the corner that contained the bucket. Then he bent down and whispered. "Go along with me on this, okay?"

Jackie nodded and sat on the bucket. Under cover of brushing her hair out of her eyes, he continued. "Something's gone wrong and it's got Dirt-Baal's panties in a wad. So here's what I want you to do. When I give you the word, I want you to take off running and find Sam."

She nodded and then replied with a question of her own. "But what about you?"

"I'll be fine. Just find Sam. Got it?"

Then Jack straightened and turned to face outwards, a human shield to ensure Jackie's privacy. "Kids, ya gotta love 'em." He pasted an innocent smile on his face.

Her hand in his signaled that she was finished and he smiled down at her with encouragement and winked. "You ready to go?"

Jackie's dark brown eyes looked solemnly up at him. Yes, I am."

Jack stepped forward, Jackie firmly pressed against him, as far from Baal as possible. The emergency lighting in the hall winked slower. Something was terribly wrong. And he just hoped that whoever was in the process of upsetting Baal's applecart were friendly to the Tau'ri.

Baal was in a hurry, already preceding them along the hall with unaccustomed haste, his Kull Warriors – all but one – formed a protective box around his haughty dark figure. The last Warrior stood dead center of the corridor; Jack slowed his pace allowing the others to widen the distance. One Warrior he might be able to handle – with an big honkin' emphasis on the might. Those Warriors weren't like Jaffa and if he remembered correctly – and he had the sinking feeling that he did – their punch packed a wallop.

As he and Jackie cleared the threshold of the cell, Jack squeezed her hand before dropping it.

"Run!" He yelled and flung himself at their lone escort.

It was like he'd hit a brick wall, if they made brick walls with hands that is. Brick hands closed over his throat and hauled him bodily off the floor, to where his bare toes could find no purchase. His hands groped and clutched at the Warrior but its fingers dug relentlessly deeper, cutting off his air and forcing his head back.

Dimly, he heard Baal's roar, "Stop her!" and what sounded like a series of explosions.

Fiercely, he clung to the arm that choked him as sweat trickled down his naked back. He could feel the air disturb the hair on his legs as he kicked instinctively due to the lack of oxygen.

Jack knew the other Warriors were moving, headed for Jackie. He couldn't hear the pitter-patter of her footsteps, but knew that she ran as fast as her skinny little legs could move. He had to do something. She was depending on him. And he'd promised he would protect her no matter what – that was a promise he'd keep – even if it killed him.

He fixed his graying vision on the Warrior, only an arm's length from him. Not that far really – a piece of cake. Come on, Jack. With a mighty effort he momentarily hung himself to use his hand to pry at the brick-like fingers that threatened to break his neck.

Only when he perceived that the roaring in his ears wasn't the vain pumping of his heart, but something else, did a sudden clarity show him the wall as it exploded toward him. An unexpected close encounter of the eyeball-to-eyeball kind with the Kull Warrior was his last memory as they both slammed into the opposite wall, followed by chunks of debris that rained down upon them both, burying them from sight.

xXx

To Be Continued


	13. Chapter 13

This has become more and more of a joint effort between myself and JoleneB. Enjoy! Dinky

xXx

Samantha Carter flinched when the wires she'd spliced spat sparks at her and then wiped at the sweat that beaded her upper lip with the back of her hand. She'd used Jackie's spoon, first to pry off the plate cover for the force field controls, and then to trace each circuit. It had been slow going, a matter of tedious trial and error. Too bad Anubis hadn't built his facility according to the specs used in the Air Force.

She smirked with the thought of an electrical inspector trying to enforce those regs on the haughty System Lords and shook her head to clear it. Then she smiled – she'd been spending too much time around Jack to be channeling him like that.

Unfortunately, that uncharacteristically off-the-wall notion reminded her of what she'd been trying to suppress – her worry that Jackie had been gone for what seemed like hours – and presumably was in the company of Jack O'Neill. She hoped that the child she'd grown to think of as her own daughter was okay, that Jack was okay too. Her heart did a little flutter at the thought of him and then her brain zinged onto a new track to distract her from thinking too hard about his predicament.

Though she realized that she was considered to be too unimportant in Baal's' scheme of things, it still rankled to be thought so unimportant as to be virtually ignored by the powers that be. From her cell, she had watched life at the facility on Tartarus pass her by, in fact Baal himself had walked past a couple of times – the last time he'd seemed preoccupied and had been surrounded by his Kull Warriors.

When the lights flickered slightly, she cocked her head while her tongue probed the roof of her mouth as if the answer might be found there. "No, that's not right,'" she muttered half to herself. "I'm not working on that circuit – I'm sure of it." Her hands paused in mid-air as she considered the problem. "So, why is it doing that?"

"Oh," her eyes lit as the lights flickered again and she nodded, "So if I'm not doing it, then something . . . or someone else must be." Her grin held a note of triumph. "And whatever it is can't be all bad if it gets me out of here."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she felt a tremor under her feet and the force field went down, which left her with a decision to make – which way to go? Did she turn right toward Jack and Jackie's cell – or to the left and possibly the control center?

She deliberated for only a second. While her heart tugged her toward the right and her desired reunion with Jack and Jackie – Baal was there too – or at least in the near vicinity. And it would do none of them any good if she were to be immediately recaptured. Her love and respect for Jack ratcheted up a notch, the man made these wrenching decisions on a regular basis; making his gentle, caring attitude all the more precious to her.

"Use your head, Samantha Jean – that's what you're good at. And Jack is depending on you to pull a rabbit – or at least a solution to this problem – out of your hat . . ." then she dimpled and ducked her head with a self-conscious smile when a previous conversation came to mind. "Or out of your butt as Jack had said," she murmured with a sly grin at his quirky and irreverent sense of humor.

She still remembered how embarrassed he'd seemed when that little jewel had come bumbling came out of his mouth – and he'd realized what he'd said – and how it sounded. Sam had never let him forget that little faux pas either; it was always good for getting that adorable blush he so seldom exhibited.

"To the left it is," she murmured.

Once there she could better determine the reason for the electrical power outages and possibly call for help. What's more, if she could also sow a bit of electronic mayhem in the process, that wouldn't hurt either. She grinned roguishly as she thought of the various ways she could wreck havoc in Baal's neighborhood.

As she prowled the hallways, she took note that they were strangely deserted, another piece to add to the puzzle. Sam also couldn't help but wonder at the increasing strength of tremors in the floor and just how they were all connected.

The hall opened into what looked to be the control center, it too was empty. Her eyes lit with glee as she all but rubbed her hands together and almost cackled with maniacal laughter. Sam was in her element now and went straight to work as she deciphered the various signs and labels on the nearest and largest console, determined to do the most extreme damage possible as payback for this whole not so pleasurable cruise.

But first things first – they needed to find a way home. She still nurtured the hope that someone – anyone – had been able to trace them to Baal's stronghold, but the only way she would find that out was if she was able to communicate with the outside.

After a moment's study, she pressed a button and was rewarded when the view screen that overlooked the room flickered to life. Initially, it crackled with static and showed only streaks of white on a black background.

She bent over the microphone and began to speak, "Mayday, mayday. This is Colonel Samantha Carter of the U.S. Air Force. We could use some help down here, over."

She paused, still bent over the microphone as her eyes surveyed the contents of the room. "Is there anybody out there, over?"

Suddenly, the static was replaced by a familiar figure. "This is Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet. Can we be of assistance to you Colonel Carter?"

"Thor?" Sweet, Sam thought; who better to pry them from this mess. "Thank god you're here. Baal is holding Jack and I prisoner on Tartarus. How close are you?"

"We are nearby and aware of the . . . situation. However, we have been unable to penetrate the shields that surround Baal's stronghold."

"The shields? Hold on, I'll try to disable them from here."

A resonant voice announced that Sam was no longer alone in the control room. "Stop her and bring her to me!"

Sam turned toward the voice and saw Anat, Baal's queen flanked by two Kull Warriors. One strode her way, its fisted arm targeted on her. The gesture reminded her all too well of when she'd been tracked by one just like him after fleeing the devastation of the Alpha Site. A frisson of irrational fear shivered along her spine. Then she'd been armed with the prototype for the weapon that could disable and kill the warrior-constructs. What she'd give for one of those right now, she mused. Yet, if it hadn't been for Jack . . . Sam bit at her lip and pushed down the beginnings of panic.

"Is there a problem?" Thor's voice asked from the view screen. Sam jerked her head back to the Asgard, thankful for the distraction from her memories of that narrow escape. With a toss of her head in the direction of the Goa'uld queen, she replied. "You might say that."

"Foolish Asgard," muttered Anat angrily. "Silence him and remove the meddler from my sight."

Sam shrugged and held her hands at shoulder height. The Warrior shoved her aside and then pressed a button that caused the view screen to go blank. She said nothing but her thoughts raced with the implications of her discovery. Thor had tracked them to Baal's stronghold and the probability that he had something to do with the periodic power outages and tremors was extremely high.

"Bring the Tau'ri female to me," Anat commanded with a gesture.

Anat's eyes blazed with anger as she studied the jewel on the hand device meaningfully. With no other choice at the moment, Sam complied with the demand, but dragged her feet with the hope that Thor could do something now that he knew what was going on.

When Sam stood in front of Anat, her eyes flashed golden and she lifted her chin in a haughty smile, "Show honor to your goddess."

Sam's lips thinned with determination. "No." Her words were uttered softy but belied the steely resolve behind them. "You're no goddess of mine," contempt fairly dripped from her lips. "You're nothing but a self-serving parasite that sucks the life out of its host before it discards it for another victim."

The queen's scream of rage echoed through the room and out into the corridor. She raised her hand and the jewel that nestled against her palm glowed red as the queen's eyes. "You shall pay for your insolence, wretched Tau'ri."

Its beam shot out and found Sam's forehead. Her face grimaced as she fought the urge to collapse to her knees. "No. . . thanks," she gasped, "I gave . . . at the . . . office . . . ugh!"

Unexpected tremors made Sam wonder if she was losing the battle to keep to her feet, but when she focused her gaze on the queen, she saw fear there. The punishing beam stopped and Sam staggered backwards. When the room heaved again, she lost her balance and fell onto her butt.

Meanwhile in front of her, Anat reeled from side to side as she too struggled to stay on her feet. The lights flickered and then went out leaving the room bathed in a surreal reddish glow. Like an afterthought, an echoing concussion slammed across the room that added to the adrenaline that already pumped through Sam's system.

"Kill her!" Anat screamed to the Warriors whose arms immediately stiffened as their fisted arms searched for their target.

Looking to Sam very much like the little battery-operated robots she had played with in her childhood, the Warriors advanced. Only these dimwitted toys sported real weapons – deadly ones –and this was anything but a child's game.

She scuttled backwards putting something solid between her and them. Pure energy hit the console next to her and she flinched away from the debris that exploded from the point of impact.

At the rate they're going, I won't have to do a thing, she thought with grim satisfaction. They'll shut the whole place down for me. With that thought in mind, she skipped over to another console, followed by a volley of energy bolts that slammed into the delicate controls above and behind her.

Another daredevil dive to cover farther into the room drew more shots and spread the destruction. Who needed weapons when the opposition could be induced to do the job for her? With wicked delight Sam moved steadily from one patch of shelter to another, trailing destruction with every inch of distance traveled.

Unfortunately, the Goa'uld seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "Stop, you fools. You're doing too much damage."

Sam snickered as the Warriors continued to fire at her. It took Anat a fair amount of undignified yelling to get her 'minion's' attention, but by that time, the control room was a smoking loss. Two life-size robots froze in confusion at the stream of screamed commands that issued from the Goa'uld queen as she literally jumped up and down in frenzied anger.

If it had not been so deadly serious a situation, Sam knew she would've been rolling on the floor with laughter, this was better than any of Jack's precious 'Three Stooges' tapes.

Sam sobered up fast as the room shook again; causing pieces of ceiling to thud to the floor around her. Flattened against the shelter of a remaining console for protection, she worried whether whatever was causing the tremors and concussions was getting closer.

"Attend me!" Anat's voice seemed tinged with fear, evidently she'd had enough and if she were lucky, she would leave Sam to her own devices.

When the mechanical clanking of their departure had died away, Sam crawled away from the console that had protected her from the debris that now littered the floor. The sound of approaching footsteps put her on her guard as her eyes swept the entrances to the room.

A sudden high-pitched gasp for breath brought Sam out into the open. If her suspicions were correct . . . She dared not call out for if she were wrong, the consequences would be dire, not only for her, but also for a certain small child who had stolen her heart and triggered her usually suppressed maternal instinct.

That sort of thing did not go well with her usual job as physicist and Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Air Force. Nonetheless it was there, and once she'd had the chance to meet with the girl in private, Sam had felt as if she were her own daughter.

Come to think of it, given what she knew about the techniques used by Baal's genetic specialists, Jackie was her daughter, in a sense. After all, an egg taken by force from her own body had been used to create Jackie along with her sisters.

In any case, Jackie had won her over from the start and Sam considered her to be her daughter of the heart. 'Their daughter', welled up briefly as a worried pang of pain ripped through her. Jack? Jackie would know.

The blinking red emergency lights made it hard to differentiate between actual figures and mere shadows, but the footsteps neared her location. Sam eased out into the open and moved in a crouch toward the sound.

"S – Sam?" The voice wavered and the footsteps stopped, though the gasping breaths continued.

It had to be – only one person sounded like that – and like any mother, her child's voice had imprinted itself on her mother's brain.

"Jackie, I'm here," Sam rushed toward the girl who immediately wrapped her arms around Sam's neck and sobbed into her neck in seeming relief. In reflex, Sam's hands roamed the skinny, shaking body assuring her that her child was whole and unharmed.

"Shh," Sam sighed with relief when she found nothing and patted and hugged the small head that nestled against her neck. "It's all right, Jackie. I'm here." Without thought, she rocked herself and the child in that ageless expression of comfort that a mother and child could share.

"I was so scared, Sam," she hiccupped into her neck.

Sam gently pushed her away, enfolded her small hand in her larger one, and led her to the console that she'd sheltered behind. Once there, she coaxed the trembling girl onto her lap.

"Why were you scared, Jackie?"

"The – the man – I mean Baal; he was with me and Jack."

Sam's breath hitched in her throat as her heart hammered wildly. "You were with Jack?"

Jackie's brown eyes looked somber as she nodded slowly. "Uh huh."

"Did you tell him?"

"About you and our secret?"

"Yes," Sam prodded her gently for an answer but was afraid to force it given how scared she seemed.

"I did, and he scared me at first – I – I thought – I mean he squeezed me so tight . . ."

"Did he hurt you?" Sam asked suspiciously.

With the eyes of a mother, her eyes raked up and down Jackie's slim body, a body she already knew was unharmed, but searched for damage just the same. Irrational anger sparked, if Jack had hurt her . . . The very thought made her want to tear her lover limb-from-limb and it scared her that she could even think of that.

"Only a little, but then he used a new word – sah-ree. He said it meant he wished he hadn't hurt me." Jackie's voice held a hint of wonder that anyone could conceive of such a thing about one such as her and Sam's heart contracted painfully that her child – her daughter – had been taught to believe she had no right to safety.

Jackie's words dragged her from the purely maternal reaction that proved stronger than her deep and abiding love for Jack. She quivered in reaction that she would ever think of harming Jackie's father; he would never harm his child knowingly. There was no question of that.

Sam blinked tears from her eyes and giggled with relief as she looked first at the ceiling and then back down at the trusting face that watched her every move. She bit her lip in an attempt to rein in her joy and then enfolded the child in a one-armed hug that Jackie tentatively moved to copy.

"You see? He didn't want to hurt you." Sam released her hold and looked into Jackie's face. "Where is Jack now?"

Jackie's face turned solemn and she pointed back down the hall where she'd only recently emerged. "Back there – with Baal."

"How did you get away?"

"Jack hit the bad men and told me to run and find you. Then the ceiling came down. It scared me but I kept running. I had to find you." Sam's blood ran cold as her daughter's words sank in.

"Listen to me, Jackie. Did the ceiling fall on Jack?"

Jackie's voice sounded tiny and scared. "I think so," she piped, "but it was hard to see while I was running." That hint of fear alerted her to the fact that she squeezed the girl too tightly – just as Jack had done – and she slowly relaxed and smiled away that fear in those beloved eyes.

"You did the right thing, and you found me." Sam patted the child's head and then cocked her head. "Do you want to go with me to find Jack?"

Jackie paused and the indentation between her eyebrows deepened. "If you come with me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Jackie." They stood and then hand-in-hand, they stepped away from the console and started back down the hall.

xXx

Jack's head bobbed against the armored back of the Kull Warrior that had thrown him over his shoulder after he'd been none too gently dug out of the cave-in. He blinked his eyes to rid them of the grit that seemed to be in the very air he breathed. When he tried to swallow, the pain of it nearly made him pass out again.

At one point, the Warrior jarred Jack against him so violently that his nose banged against the armor plating. He grabbed it with one hand and checked for blood. There was none, but it hurt.

"For crying out loud, watch it, will ya? You're doing more damage to me now than the cave-in did."

"So the great Tau'ri O'Neill awakens," Baal said with a sneer.

"Yeah, what's it to ya?" Jack groused, his voice strange to even his own ears. It must be the hanging upside-down, he thought. "You try having a wall dropped on you and see how you do."

He winced, and wondered if there was any chest hair left from sheer friction as he slipped and slid across the Warrior's not so smooth armor.

"Need I remind you that I did – as you so quaintly put it – have a wall dropped on me? And yet, I am the one walking while you, pitiful as you are, are unable to do so."

"Well, you weren't the one that had the starring role in the Darth Vader remake either," Jack muttered.''

"Whatever are you prattling on about?" Baal's confused expression – seen at even the odd angle afforded him – gave Jack a sense of triumph. Mentally he raised a finger, licked it, and chalked up a hash mark for his side.

"You never watched Star Wars?"

When Baal didn't answer, Jack continued. "I'll take that as a no. Well in the first movie, the bad guy, Darth Vader had invaded Princess Leia's ship and – with just one hand mind you – was dangling a Freedom Fighter by the neck – kind of like your goon was doing with me."

"Probably because the fighter talked too much," muttered Baal.

From the sound of his footsteps, Jack thought he'd lengthened his stride, and his present mode of transportation – the Warrior – followed suit. This awarded his side another hash mark. Jack grinned, and then grimaced as that move pulled at something painfully.

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Jack shot back, doing his best to prevent his nose from a repeat collision with the armored back. "So, where we going?"

"Away," Baal answered.

"Away – well that's original." Jack rolled his eyes. "And where – pray tell – would that be?"

Silence again, so Jack tried another tack. "So exactly why did you dig me out, if I'm so pitiful?"

"You don't know?" Baal sounded amused – imagine that, Jack thought with irony.

"Actually, I have a pretty good idea, but was wondering if you'd 'fess up'?" Jack smirked or tried to, which, he'd discovered was very difficult to do from the upside-down position.

"I shall not deign to – as you say – 'fess up' anything to you, foolish Tau'ri."

"Any idea what – or should I say who – is causing all this mess?"

When Baal didn't respond, he continued his verbal assault against the Goa'uld. If nothing else, maybe he could talk the snakehead to death. Certainly nothing else had worked so far

"What's the matter; did I touch a raw nerve there?" Then there was a 'somebody' out there giving the snakehead grief. Baal all but told him who when he ignored the question. Well, didn't that just break his heart . . . NOT!

"I am not affected by your foolish chatter, O'Neill." Baal replied with haughty disdain.

Jack smirked at just how untrue that little lie was.

The Warrior stopped and dropped Jack like a sack of potatoes. O'Neill luckily landed on a shoulder; even though the impact jarred lose a galaxy of stars. He blinked them away as he propped himself up only to be hoisted roughly to his feet by the same Warrior by a tug on his arm.

When he looked around he whistled his disbelief. The room was a shambles, huge chunks of the wall and ceiling had fallen and cracked one sarcophagus' lid and the other had been completely flattened.

Jack turned his gaze to Baal, "You weren't planning on using those, were you?"

Baal glared his answer and raised his hand device in mute warning.

"Ah ah," Jack smirked and waved his index finger in the Goa'uld's direction. "Be nice, it's not as if you have a handy sarcophagus to dump my body into anymore."

"I have more at our new location," Baal warned and his eyes flashed golden.

"And that would be . . . where?" Jack kept the rubble between himself and the glowering Goa'uld and stood with his arms crossed stubbornly across his grimy, reddened bare chest.

Baal snapped his fingers. "Bring him!"

The Kull Warrior moved to grab his arm and Jack danced out of reach. Then he turned and sprinted, his back bent in a crouch when a laser blast scorched past his unprotected shoulder. He zigzagged, bare feet sure on the floor, but continued his bid for freedom as a burst of adrenaline added speed to his run.

"Stop him!"

Oh yeah, there was no doubt about it, Slime-Baal sounded pissed. The snakehead probably couldn't do without his scintillating conversation, Jack thought ruefully, though if he were honest with himself, he knew exactly why Baal was going to the trouble to drag him along – and it had nothing to do with his conversation skills – it was for his Ancient genes and the things he could do because of them.

"Jack?" He recognized the voice and it came from ahead of him. It was Sam!

A quick glance showed him the Warriors were in lumbering pursuit, Baal was red-faced and shouting. But what turned his heart to ice was the Warrior taking aim – only not at him!

"Sam," he puffed. "Get down!" And he pushed himself toward her, afraid for her.

Jack heard the distinctive sound of weapon's discharge behind him; saw Sam fall and what looked like a blur of shadow behind her, just as the world winked out.

xXx

To Be Continued


	14. Chapter 14

A tissue warning is needed for this part as it gets pretty "intense". As always, my thanks to JoleneB for her valuable input to this tale. Enjoy, Dinky

xXx

The world stuttered back to life as Jack's cheek slid across the grit-covered stone of the floor. His warning still rang in the air above him and was accentuated by another energy blast that took out a portion of the wall beside him.

Jack rocketed to his feet and sidestepped the falling wreckage, only to lose the rhythm of his steps, his naked feet sliding in the scattered wreckage. He staggered and just failed to catch himself, then tumbled into a heap on the floor. The shadow he'd glimpsed earlier jarred into his side, all churning legs and arms.

"Jackie, come back!"

The sound of Sam's voice jerked his eyes to her, that action was followed almost immediately by another blast, this one slammed into him. Sam's scream froze him into inaction for a split second. The total lack of pain confused Jack's already addled brain. A chunk of debris had felled him, and his head throbbed. The cool trail down the back of his neck told him of the blood that dripped from the point of impact. But that was the only place he hurt.

Jack's sense of smell drew him back to what – or rather who – had slammed into him – Jackie. Yet the all too-well-remembered smell of burnt flesh set off an adrenaline flood, and with it came an absolute certainty of what had happened. His world snapped into a cold and crystalline place, a place he'd rather not be.

As if viewing a movie, he saw and heard Sam scrabble to her feet, screaming Jackie's name. Dispassionately, he watched as his own hands tugged at the warm bundle sagged against him and turned her pale face to the light.

But it felt so unreal, this could not be happening, he argued with himself. Not again. Only a cruel and hardhearted God would impose such a horror upon any one person more than one time – would visit the sins of the father upon an innocent son – or daughter.

Jack had been raised to believe in a merciful and all-knowing God by the oft-times not so tender ministrations of the nuns at the local Catholic Church. The lessons he'd memorized from the Baltimore Catechism did not begin to cover the tragedies of his life, nor what his country asked him to do in the name of freedom. Each event eroded the faith that had flickered within. Charlie's death had snuffed it out – he thought.

Perhaps it was easier to feel anger toward an alien in human clothing than at the God of his fathers. His mind shied away from the root of his anger, at the many disappointments and his perceived abandonment, at why any God would allow an innocent to die or tolerate the sacrifice that Jackie had made for him – him . . . an altogether most unworthy vessel for such an act of heroism and love.

The unmoving child in his arms must be part of a dream of nightmarish proportions, and soon he would awaken from it safe in his own bed at his home, his arms wrapped around Sam's warm body. But he didn't wake up, and the nightmare continued despite his protestations that it had gone on long enough – that it was too much – that it must stop.

He felt the sharp jar as Sam used him as a stop to her momentum and with a savage effort; he wrenched his mind away from the existential bent of his thoughts back to the here and now. Sam's arms reached for the child splayed next to him, she tenderly pulled Jackie away to cradle against her chest. Stunned, Jack snuggled down next to her, one arm around Sam's waist as, together, their hands gently arranged their child's lower body and legs across their own.

Up close, he could see Jackie's injuries and it didn't look good for her chances of survival, he's seen grown men die of less. Her abdomen was a mass of charred flesh that smoked and smoldered, faintly hissing as warm blood cooled the wound. Jack swallowed hard as tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

"Sam?" the name wafted from Jackie's lips, a mere whisper but her parents heard it nonetheless.

"I'm here, Jackie," Sam replied as tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped onto Jackie's upturned face.

"Sah-ree," Jackie said and frowned.

"Why?" Sam voice trembled with suppressed grief and shock, her eyes met Jack's and he could only stare hollowly back.

"Hurt you." Jackie breathed softly, one forefinger pointed upward as her hands rested on her chest.

"No, you didn't hurt us, we love you, Jackie." Sam looked to Jack for confirmation and he numbly nodded his approval. "We're sorry you got hurt."

"Dying?" Jackie's dark-brown eyes bored into Sam's eyes and his own.

"No," Jack's mouth formed the word that Sam spoke; he could utter his denial, but could not speak the lie. Sam sniffed and shook her head violently in denial. "I'll get you some help from the Asgard."

"No," a minute shake of the child's head forced them to face her reality.

Jack shook his head. "No, Jackie . . . stay with us." His eyes widened as the girl's fingers reached toward his lips, but did not quite touch. "Please?" he whispered as her arm flopped back and he reached out to cup her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. If he wished hard enough, and denied what he saw . . . perhaps, just perhaps . . .

"See . . . my sisters," Jackie whispered with a hint of a smile. Jack squeezed his eyes tightly closed for just a moment, and prayed they'd wake up from this nightmare. Sam's anguished gasp had them flying open in alarm.

Jackie's eyes widened and she gave one last gasp. Then her body relaxed as her final breath rattled out of her throat. The spark of life gradually left her dark eyes leaving them dull and lifeless as they stared off into oblivion.

Their tragic and profoundly private Pietà-like tableau was shattered by a bass voice above them. "The girl is dead?" Baal nodded forbiddingly. "Pity, I shall have to put her in the sarcophagus . . . or create another. Bring them." And he turned to leave.

Baal's grotesque intrusion was like a sharp stick thrust into an unsuspecting beehive, and in an instant Jack's frozen grief swarmed into a rage that boiled inside his chest and then sought to find its release in a scream of disbelief and fury that threatened to erupt from his mouth. He bit his lip till it bled in an effort to contain it while his trembling hands moved Jackie's body away from his own.

Once his child's body was safe in Sam's care, he loosed the buzzing flight of rage and flung himself at Baal's retreating back; and allowed his wrath to explode in one word of negation and denial. "Noo!"

Baal shouted, "Stop!"

Jack's attack took the Goa'uld by surprise and the infuriated man took full advantage of it. With Baal knocked to the floor, Jack straddled him and raised his fist, then smashed it into the snake's nose with punishing force as years of pent-up rage and fury poured forth. Beneath him, the Goa'uld writhed and twitched as he tried to avoid Jack's fists.

The Warriors did not intervene, too well programmed to obey their master's every command, even those not intended for them. Their god was on his own.

Baal's nose flattened under the assault of first one fist, and then the other as blood spattered his handsome face. With metronome-like regularity, Jack's words were punctuated by his fists. "You . . . son . . . of . . . a . . . bitch!"

Blood sprayed Jack's face and he licked it off his lips, savoring the coppery taste of it, relishing it. Not because it was blood, but because of who's blood it was. It tasted of revenge – sweet and heady – one he'd yearned after for years. No longer would he deny himself of it, he had paid its price many times over.

"This one's for Jackie . . . this one's for her sisters . . . every . . . single . . . one."

"One and two and three . . ."

A distant part of his brain recognized the words and meaning of Sam's chant, her hope. It should have made sense to him, but the rage and sweet blood could not be resisted. They were Jack's preoccupation, his extraction of vengeance on the one snakehead that had plagued him, whom he believed had broken him years ago. And now Jack intended to break him in turn.

His words, still in time to his fisted blows, grew increasingly unintelligible as his already ravaged throat became hoarse with his shouted proclamation of Baal's every crime. Nevertheless, Jack knew what he said, he'd lived it and a part of him gloried in the freedom of voicing it at long last. Each declaration of every degradation and humiliation made him stronger, not weaker.

Jack's chest heaved from exertion and years of hidden anguish, slicked with sweat and blood, and for once it wasn't his own. He cocked his fist back and relived the last sin of Baal's power over him, the life he himself had taken to gain his freedom many years ago. Not an innocent, but a life nonetheless, and it was fitting that Baal experience the same end for himself.

The weight of every moment spent at the mercy of this wanna-be god fueled his fist as it descended, a dark angel flashing through the sudden brilliance that erupted around him, closely followed on Jack's shout, "And this one's for me!"

Ensnared by the light and sound he knew he should recognize – his fist slammed into . . . an empty floor? Distantly, his mind was aware that instead of the satisfaction of dying flesh under his blow, he felt the bones of his hand give way, but he dismissed all of this as unimportant. The most important thing now was to protect Jackie and Sam.

As if in a dream, he heard Sam's voice behind him, loud with urgency. "I need some help here. She's not breathing!"

"Jackie!" Jack's voice was so hoarse that her name was only a croak.

He staggered to his feet and lurched toward Sam who cradled the child – his daughter – in her arms. Jackie's pale thin face was tucked up against Sam's breast while her arms dangled at her side lifelessly.

Jack held out his hands to take her from Sam, but then saw the gore encrusting them and snatched them away. Although the blood was primarily Baal's it wasn't appropriate to touch a child with hands stained with blood. It had scared her before – back in the cell – and he'd promised her that he would protect her from harm. And now she was dead. Another promise broken – she had been right to distrust him.

Someone tried to push him away from his daughter and he lashed out with his hands. "Don't touch her. Just leave her alone," he snarled. "Haven't you done enough already?"

"But Jack . . ." Sam pleaded as she jerked away from Jack's side. "It's Thor . . . and Ernie. They can save her."

Jack blinked the sweat out of his eyes and looked around not really seeing where he was as he tried to make some sense of the situation. "What?"

His mind raced out of control .The last thing he'd known was that he'd been beating the crap out of Baal. What had happened to change that? Where was he now, and how had he gotten there?

"It's me, Jack. Ernie. I want to help," a short gray . . . Asgard? Yeah, that was it.

Jack opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap. His forehead wrinkled as he fought to halt his whirling brain, trying to catch onto something that might tell him who this creature was. "Ernie?"

The Asgard held out his hand in a silent plea of empathy. "Yes, Jack. It's me."

Jack nodded numbly as something deep within told him this was someone he could trust and stood aside, whereupon Ernie turned away from Jack and beckoned to Sam.

"Bring her here, Sam, and I'll get her hooked up to a medical pod." He gently steered Sam toward his goal and Jack shambled after.

"I tried giving her rescue breathing but I'm not sure it was enough. She was shot by a Kull Warrior – it was an accident. It was aiming for me and she got in the way," Sam explained as she laid Jackie in the pod. Then she straightened Jackie's arms along her body and bent down to kiss her on the forehead.

"Please, Ernie. Save her. She . . . she deserves to live," Sam pleaded with tear-filled eyes.

Ernie patted her arm and nodded. "Of course she does. I'll do the best I can."

Then he bent to his work and hurriedly began hooking Jackie's body up to the various ports and monitors contained in the medical pod.

A touch to Jack's elbow startled him. Baal and his carbon-copy Warriors loomed out of the chaos and jumble in his head; in reaction he flinched and rounded with a raised fist to hit whoever had dared to disturb him. His clenched hand screeched to a halt in mid-air when another image snapped into focus and he discerned the identity of his assailant.

"Thor?"

Thor's eyes widened and then he nodded. "You seem to be on edge, O'Neill. Would you come with me?"

"No, I can't. I need to stay with Jackie." Jack's attention had already returned to her still unmoving form.

"Who is Jackie?" Thor's voice was annoying and it was getting on Jack's last nerve.

"What?" He ran the fingers of one gore-encrusted hand through his hair, leaving reddened tufts standing at attention in its wake. "Oh, um. Jackie? She's my daughter."

"I was not aware that you had a daughter."

"For crying out loud, Thor, could you just leave me alone right now?" Jack snapped and then left Thor to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sam. This time he had a name for the creature across from him. Slowly his overloaded mind puzzled out that somehow help had arrived in the form of the Asgard. New hope raised a warmth in the ashes of his faith. Perhaps . . .

"Has Ernie said anything yet?" Jack asked her, while his hands clenched and unclenched at his side. He winced as the bones he'd shattered in his hand complained at the rough treatment. He flexed his fingers again and gloried in the shaft of pain that shot up his elbow.

Pain he could understand. They were old pals, buds, – comrades-in-arms as it were – and he deserved to suffer. For Jackie had shielded him from that last laser blast with her own body – and paid for her selfless act with her life – a price far too high for a soul as dark as his.

Another clench of his fist renewed the pain; his ally, a buttress against his raw emotions and a refuge from a nightmarish present that was too much for him to face. A new shield against older nightmares he refused to recognize, even though he knew them intimately.

"No, he hasn't. She looks so small and helpless just lying there, doesn't she?"

"Huh?" temporarily shaken from his own horrific thoughts, he raised shaking hands, looked at them blankly and then let them drop back down to his side as if he didn't know what to do with them. His head felt too small for the chaos and pounded in time with his heartbeat.

"Oh, yeah, she does," Jack licked his dry cracked lips and tasted a coppery tang of dried blood – not his own – but Baal's. It had felt so good to pound him into the floor, an ache of pleasure sharper than the mindless shiver of sexual climax bloomed at the remembrance of what he had done. Shame and elation warred amongst his many waking nightmares, making reality seem distant.

He flexed his fingers again and rejoiced at the jolt of liquid fire that raced up his arm to drown the hated and – at the same time desired – animalistic pleasure. His only anchor in the whirling chaos he found himself in. He studied his fist with numb detachment and noted the deformed knuckles surrounded by puffy bluish skin and wondered at how steady his hand seemed. Should it not be shaking?

"Please come with me," Thor's matter of fact tone broke into Jack's fevered thoughts and he jumped, fists cocked at hip level, ready for use. Sam gave him a worried look and he shied away from any contact with them. Dealing with the bedlam inside of his head took all he had; dealing with more was beyond his present capabilities.

"Why? I want to stay with Jackie, she'll be scared when she wakes up if I'm not there," Sam's tone was firm and unyielding as only a mother with a wounded chick could be.

"Eir will do everything within his power but your presence is distracting him," Thor sighed and blinked his large obsidian eyes – eyes that were a match for Jack's irredeemably fallen soul.

"Well, okay," Sam still sounded uncertain. "But you'll tell us as soon as there's news, won't you?"

"Of course I will," Ernie assured them as his head bobbed toward them and then his attention was back on his patient.

Thor led them to a corner with chairs that they all could use and Sam sank into one with a sigh of relief. Jack ignored the implied gesture of kindness and stood facing a seated Thor and Sam.

"Why don't you sit down, O'Neill?" Thor blinked up at him.

"I don't feel like sitting down, that's why!" Jack snapped back with his fisted hands now lowered to his side.

In response to his own unwarranted aggression and inner pain he tightened the broken one, the jolt of pain was welcome and reminded him of whom and what he was – a person undeserving of any respite or kindness. How tightly could he force his fist closed, how much pain would it take to wash this from his blackened soul?

"Jack, are you all right?" Sam looked worried and stood up.

"I'm fine." He flexed his hand again and stiffened as his nerve-endings screamed from the over-stimulation. "Just fine," he muttered.

She reached out a tentative hand to touch him and he cringed back. "Stop, don't touch me," he warned, his voice loud with anger and self-loathing.

"O'Neill, is there a problem? You appear to be hurt." Thor's voice sounded calm – soothing even – but Jack was having none of it. He knew he didn't deserve any acts of compassion and sought refuge in another jolt of pain. If the God of his childhood had abandoned him, why shouldn't everyone else? Obviously, he was beyond help, his soul already consigned to the everlasting fires of hell for his transgressions.

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Jack snapped and backed away from them . . . and then stopped when he felt a bulkhead against his back. His head felt as if it would explode at any second. "Just stay away from me – all of you!" He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that to know and touch him would be fatal – for those who loved him . . . died.

Sam's eyes were wide, her blue irises all but hidden by her dilated black pupils as she inched toward him, her hands outreached. "Jack? Let me help you."

Jack licked his lips. Was that fear in her eyes? She should fear and despise him, for had his own daughter not just died in his place? Had he not been derelict and replayed the scene of his son's death before her? He shook his head, unwilling to allow more death because of him. The unbearable pressure in his skull increased and he thumped his head back against the wall at his back. "No, I can't . . . you can't . . ."

When he felt a sudden touch against his arm he tried to swat it away with the other hand. His fingers met resistance and he looked down and saw another Asgard at his side.

"What?"

"You are injured and need to rest, O'Neill," admonished Thor with undeserved gentleness.

"No," Jack's voice wavered as his legs turned to rubber.

Deliberately he banged his broken hand back against the wall, the pain flickered and died. His anchor gone, his body slid against the bulkhead on its way to the floor. No matter how badly he desired it, the cleansing pain would not reawaken; he blinked and realized the world had canted to one side.

He fought the darkness that beckoned to him, but it was stronger, and he had no weapon left. Heavy waves of the horrific chaos that polished the inside of his skull washed over Jack and sucked him down to that deep place he referred to as 'the box'. Coming to rest in the gory bones of his own past, his vision grayed at the edges and his breaths became useless shuddering gasps.

"No," he whispered.

xXx

To Be Continued


	15. Chapter 15

My thanks to everyone who has been writing reviews for this fic. You feed my pen and give me encouragement to keep writing even when a particular chapter seems to take forever to write, such as this one. A huge honkin' thank you to JoleneB for the extra words of wisdom and support. You know what I mean.

xXx

Sam watched in shocked disbelief as Jack crumpled to the floor. With his collapse her world teetered on the verge of a vast abyss filled with a chaotic jumble where there were no rules and nothing made sense. Two important pillars that supported her world and helped her make sense of a reality that all too often did not follow the rules of physics – Jack, and most recently Jackie – had given way under the strain.

This maelstrom was a place where she ventured only when circumstances forced her there – events such as the death of her mother and then years later, when her father and Selmak followed. In its depths dwelt raw emotion – both the highs and the lows – that a human being could sink or rise to. Even her love for Jack could not send her there for long. However Jackie had touched a cord and kindled an immediate – and at the same time completely irrational – all encompassing love for a child that did not spring from her body, yet had been created with the spoils that had been stolen from her belly.

As her mind struggled to deal with this latest stressor, like a life vest flung in a stormy sea, a calm voice reached out to her and gave her the anchor she so desperately needed.

"Colonel Carter, I require your assistance."

As she watched, Jack's body was surrounded by white light, when the light faded; he had vanished to reappear in a medical pod on the other side of the room. Only then did she notice that she was frozen, still reaching for his body. As if someone had hit pause, she had never reached him, couldn't prevent him from falling. Self-consciously her arms flopped to her side, she felt ashamed of her failure to provide even so basic a need for the man she loved.

"Yes, Thor?" Her head swiveled – drawn to the voice, as a flower would be to light – and was very nearly not able to wrench her eyes from the occupied medical pods to address the Asgard in front of her.

"I require your assistance in gathering information," Thor reached out to her with one hand, but she prevented contact and shuffled backwards a half step. Sucking hard on her upper lip, her gaze shifted from Thor to the pods. "But I . . . I mean Jack . . ."

"The needs of O'Neill are being met, Colonel Carter, and you will be informed of his condition as soon as he is stabilized."

Numbly, she allowed his long powdery cool fingers to slide around her wrist to lead her back to her chair where she sat down with a thud. "Well, all right."

With an effort she pulled her attention back to Thor's request and Sam fastened her gaze on the Asgard in front of her, the better to shut out other distractions Although there was nothing she could do to help directly, she could provide information, a sort of intergalactic de-briefing if you will. Her private designation for their present conversation caused a giggle to well up and she stifled it as unseemly and very unprofessional.

Sam had always excelled in the ability to focus her entire intellect on finding the solution to any problem. This was just one more, she told herself firmly. One, given time, she could dissect and solve. And its solution would be a rational one that would set her world straight once again.

If only she could banish the very close reality of Jackie's still body in her arms. Of Jack's frightening reaction, the look in his eyes – his self loathing . . .

She fisted her hands and felt the bite of her fingernails into her palm. The sting of it helped her to concentrate on the task at hand, providing needed intel to Thor.

Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter lifted her chin and stared levelly at Thor, she was ready now, every inch the professional Air Force Officer and physicist who had saved her world and his countless times with her innovative solutions. "What do you want to know?"

"Are you aware of any explanation for O'Neill's irrational behavior and subsequent collapse?"

"Let's see." She nibbled her lower lip as she thought back to the chaotic melee in the hallway on Tartarus. "He was hit by falling debris while we were in the hallway before you beamed us out. That might cause a concussion. That was when Jackie. . . "

She paused and gulped forcing down the rising bile. Overcome with sudden emotion Sam squeezed her eyes shut to block out a recurrence of that scene. Because she had a job to do she ruthlessly pushed away the distracting feelings and images to continue with her report.

"In addition he's been under a lot of stress from his captivity." Sam frowned, embarrassed at such a facile way of putting their experiences. "We were kept in separate cells most of the time so there is a great deal that I don't know. What I do know is that Baal played mind games with Jack and wanted him to think I was dead."

Thor nodded. "I see. This must have been quite difficult for you."

Sam nodded and twisted her hands in her lap, disturbed by what her imagination could supply about just what might have happened to Jack, alone, and unsupported by her.

Sam nodded firmly and firmed her lips, not willing to be distracted any longer. She needed to know about Jackie's condition.

"Yes, it was, but I'm fine. I have to know about Jackie. What's taking so long?" Sam twisted in the chair to stare in Ernie's direction.

"Give him time." Thor paused and blinked, as if unsure how to continue. "Who . . . exactly is Jackie?"

Sam turned back to Thor, the pods reflected in his large dark eyes. With a deep breath she shoved away the emotion that threatened to bubble up to drown out reason again. "It's kind of a long story." She temporized and hoped he wouldn't ask for details.

"I have time to listen," Thor replied. "O'Neill referred to her as his daughter."

"He did?" Sam licked her lips, for some reason confused he would admit that. "Oh yeah, I guess he did. Well, like I said, it's a long story." She really didn't want to go there but Thor looked like he was about to blow a gasket, or whatever the Asgard did when they were ready to lose it, so she continued. "Baal wanted access to the Ancient gene and the abilities that go along with it. Since Jack wasn't cooperating with him, Baal decided to make another . . . Jack. One he could control."

"So the child is a clone?"

"Not exactly," Sam cocked her head to one side as her scientific mind took over. It was easier to explain it this way, science didn't feel, couldn't be violated, and didn't die on the table.

"He used Jack's sperm and my eggs to create Jackie. From what she told us, his specialists created eight girls that were close genetic duplicates of Jack, only female. I guess Baal thought females would be easier for him to control than males. His only concern was that they possessed the gene."

"I see. Where are the other children?"

"According to Jackie, they died."

"That is unfortunate. You said that you were uninjured?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam rubbed one arm with her fingers the better to relax tensed muscles; only she could feel them tighten, as if trying to push her around in the direction of the pods. "Outside of the injections to produce more eggs and the actual operation to harvest them, Baal pretty much ignored me."

"The operation?"

"I don't remember much about that, according to what I was told, I . . ." Her voice trembled and then took on a dead flattened tone; she vividly remembered the look on Jack's face when he'd told her about it. "I did not survive the procedure but was revived in the sarcophagus. Jack said Baal agreed to this in exchange for his cooperation."

Even with the knowledge that Jack had no choice – that still made her angry. And just as suddenly it made Sam sad. Why couldn't he ever get a break?

She blinked several times to clear her eyes of suspicious moisture and then ducked her head. "Why do you ask?"

Her problems were minor compared to his. She should be thinking about Jackie. She had to be okay. If Jackie didn't make it . . . She had to be okay, she just had to.

"You need to be medically examined before we go further."

"But I feel fine," Sam protested, and sneaked a peek in Jackie's direction. Anyone could see she was fine, it was Jack and Jackie who needed help, not her.

"Nonetheless, I must insist," Thor was adamant and waved her toward an empty medical pod, once she was on her feet.

"Well, I . . ." Sam wavered, and let herself take an errant step toward the other pods, still unsure. Their conversation was interrupted by another Asgard whose head popped up from a medical pod console.

"Tell her it's an order, Thor," Ernie piped up; his stern tone brooked no argument, even as his large dark eyes languidly blinked – a study in opposites. "The humans have been dropping like flies ever since we beamed them aboard and she'll be examined if I have to sedate her and drag her to the pod myself." Then he returned to his console.

Sam sucked in her breath and marveled at how much the little Asgard physician sounded like Jack and smothered a smile with one hand. "Since you put it that way . . ."

Accompanied by Thor, she started toward the empty pod. With every step her eyes devoured Ernie and the other pods, soaking in as much information as possible.

Thor blinked several times as if taken by surprise by Ernie's threat, "He does have a way of getting his point across."

"You can say that again," Sam muttered as she climbed into the pod and stretched out inside it. But she found she could not get comfortable and fidgeted, worried about her daughter, anxious to hear her voice.

"Before you repeat what you said, Thor, that was just another colorful metaphor," chimed in Ernie who now stood next to Sam's pod, "meant to emphasize that she agreed with your statement."

"I was aware of that," Thor objected with some affront.

"Just checking," Ernie continued blithely, seemingly unconcerned that he might have just insulted the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet. His long fingers pressed several touch pads on the pod console and lights flickered on.

"If you need my assistance I can be reached on the bridge," Thor blinked and then patted Sam's shoulder awkwardly.

"Um, thanks for everything, Thor," Sam smiled nervously and tried to calm herself, but felt her attention drawn irresistibly toward Jackie's pod. "We couldn't have gotten out of there without your help."

Thor inclined his head and then turned to leave. Once he was out of sight, Ernie turned his attention back to Sam.

"Lie still while I scan you, Sam" Ernie suggested.

"Oh, okay. I suppose I can do that," she replied with a smile, anxious to get the exam over with and Ernie's attention back on Jackie where it could do the most good.

"Piece of cake, right?" Ernie bobbed his head with a hint of a smirk on his face. Or at least, that was what Sam deduced the unusual expression was meant to be. It certainly was not one she'd seen Thor use.

A vertical bar of light started at Sam's head and traversed the length of her body, then reversed itself when it had reached her feet. When it had reached the tip of her head, it disappeared.

"Hmm," Ernie studied his console and pressed more buttons.

"Well? Am I all right?"

"Yes, you appear to be in perfect health, which is a surprise considering what you've been through."

"What about my . . ." Sam paused, suddenly shy with unaccustomed modesty and patted her lower abdomen with both hands. "My . . . you know."

"I overheard your conversation with Thor. You are concerned that permanent damage might have been done to your reproductive system?"

"Yes, that's it." Sam's hands curled protectively across her middle as if she could somehow prevent the violation that had already occurred.

"I detect no residual scarring."

Sam sighed with relief and patted her belly. "Thank goodness, I was afraid that I . . ."

"Luckily the sarcophagus was able to repair the damage that was done to you."

The physical damage – yes. As for the emotional . . . that was a question Sam could not answer and she shied away from examining it too closely. She had other – more important – concerns at present. She promised herself that she would deal with that fiasco later – much, much later.

"What about Jackie? Can't you tell me anything?"

Ernie's ebullient manner seemed to deflate. "Yes, I'm afraid that I can tell you something, Sam. The damage to her was too great, I'm sorry, but she is dead."

Sam's world – along with her heart – seemed to contract at the Asgard physician's words. "Dead?"

"Yes, I was unable to revive her."

"Let me see her." Her tone made it clear that this was a demand not a request.

"Of course." Ernie extended his hand to Sam. "If you take my hand, I will assist you up."

Sam took his hand gratefully. "Thanks, Ernie."

Her feet felt numb as she stood and swayed for a moment. Ernie's hand at her elbow steadied her and she nodded her thanks. Her mind whirled around the finality of Ernie's pronouncement, examined it and rejected it. It could not be so. She'd applied the life-saving skills until expert medical care was available – just as she'd been taught. But she must have done something wrong, very wrong. This just could not be true.

Like an automaton, her legs carried her body to the medical pod where Jackie lay, silent and unmoving. Sam's trembling hand reached out to brush away an errant strand of hair that fell across Jackie's dirt-smudged forehead.

"She looks so peaceful – like she's asleep." Sam's voice was infused with all the hope and love that she could possibly project into it. "Jackie?" She laid her hand gently on the child's shoulder and shook her. "I'm here, please wake up."

"She cannot hear you," Ernie's voice was soft with compassion. "I tried everything I could."

"Are you sure?" Her words were hard and unyielding, ready to blame anyone and everyone for this tragedy.

"Yes, I am sorry. Her wounds were too severe."

"I don't believe you, try something else," she pleaded, her voice hard with disbelief. This could not be happening.

Ernie shook his head. "I am very sorry, Sam. But there is nothing more I can try. She is gone."

"No, it can't be," Sam whispered. "It can't be."

She buried her head in Jackie's hair and breathed in the essence of little girl that was spoiled by the stench of charred flesh. She jerked away but the smell acted as a trigger and for a moment she was transported back to the scene in the hallway, her widened eyes glazed as the horrific images scrolled past – molasses slow.

"The Warriors were shooting at me, and Jack too. She . . . Jackie got in the way . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as if in a daze as she caressed Jackie's cheek lightly with her fingers.

"You mentioned she had sisters?"

Sam welcomed the distraction and turned toward Ernie, but her hand seemed reluctant to lose the physical contact, as if she was afraid her daughter's body might disappear without her touch to anchor her there.

"Yes, she said there were originally eight of them, but her sisters died. She didn't say why." She smiled tenderly as she continued to stroke the girl's smooth cheek. "When I first saw her, she showed me a tattoo on the underside of her arm and said it was her name – AGT four of eight. I told her that was no name for a girl and gave her the name of Jackie. It seemed to fit her."

Jackie was so much like Jack; those delicate freckles that powdered her face were the same ones that he possessed. She had delighted in their discovery, for one had to peer closely to see their ghosts in the dark tan of his face – very closely. And she had taken each opportunity in their newfound intimacy to memorize every detail of his ruggedly handsome face.

"While scanning Jackie, I discovered that her cell structure was inherently unstable."

"What do you mean?" That grabbed Sam's attention and her scientific mind took over, shunting aside the troublesome feelings for the safety of factual data.

"Jackie was already dying; in fact she was on borrowed time."

"Do you know why?"

"I believe it was due to changes made to the DNA when she and her sisters were created."

"So, she would not have survived?" Sam swallowed hard as her mind struggled to digest this unwanted information. She and Jack had suffered so much already, and now this. How does one cope with this? How could one hope to?

"No, I'm sorry. There was nothing anyone could have done."

Sam's mind whirled, this could not be happening, not to her, not to Jack, she vowed with sudden anger. Her next words were spat out, like the rounds of a P-90 on automatic fire. "No, I won't accept that, Ernie. You were able to save Jack's clone, so why not Jackie? Or isn't she worth your bother?"

"I'm very . . ." Ernie began and patted Sam's shoulder but she jerked away from it.

"And don't you dare tell me you're sorry – again!" Her eyes flashed – her blue irises completely hidden by dilated pupils as the adrenaline sang through her veins. "Don't tell me you can't save her. All your knowledge and technology and you can't save her?"

Sam's vision narrowed as her mind fastened on something, anything that would prove Ernie wrong. "There must be something wrong with this pod's instruments. Did you check them out?"

"Of course, but I . . ." Ernie raised both hands in a defensive gesture.

"Well, check them again," Sam pounced on his hesitation with all the fervor of a mother out to resurrect her dead child. "Of all the incompetent . . ."

Her breathing came in rapid gasps, timed so that she could continue her verbal assault on the hapless Asgard in charge of her daughter's care. She shouted, "How dare you take chances with my daughter's life!"

Then with both hands, she shoved him away from the pod; her attack took Ernie by surprise and knocked him off balance. Once that barrier to her child's medical care was out of her way, Sam slipped her arms under the Jackie's body and lifted her out of the pod.

"You never cared about her, she's just a stupid human," she muttered to herself as she cradled Jackie's unresisting body in her arms. "Not like I do."

Then she bent to kiss her daughter's forehead and crooned, "Yes, everything's going to be all right, Jackie. You wait and see."

Sam looked around her wildly, it was so hard to concentrate, her thoughts were jumbled and nothing made sense. How could Ernie be so careless with her daughter's care?

Then her eyes lit up as an idea occurred to her. The perfect solution to her problem was back on Tartarus. Though she'd only seen it briefly, she knew Baal had at least one because he'd used it on her. Jack had told her so.

"Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?" Sam's lips curled in a smile of joy and triumph and she gazed with newfound hope at the slack face of the child she carried in her arms.

"Please put the child down, Samantha Carter," urged Ernie, in a low voice from behind her. Since for whatever reason, the Asgard physician did not seem to have Jackie's best interest at heart, Sam ignored him. She and Jack, stupid humans that they were, had saved their superior asses before. They weren't smart enough to see beyond their blinders, but she was.

"No, since you couldn't be bothered with her care, I'll do this myself. I'll transport back down to Tartarus and revive her in Baal's sarcophagus," Sam snarled her response and didn't even bother turning to say the words to Ernie's face. She didn't – couldn't trust him to see the solution right in front of him – not with the welfare and life of her daughter at stake.

A sudden pressure on her arm and a hissing sound drew her attention. Sam swiveled in place, Jackie's dangling legs flopped lifelessly against her thighs, to discover the culprit, Ernie. Now in front of her, he stood with an instrument in his hand that looked suspiciously like a hypodermic of some sort. Her scientific mind slowed as it tried to sort out the implications of this newest development.

"Ernie? Why . . ." Her voice wavered as her knees trembled underneath Jackie's weight. Why would he betray her now?

"I am very sorry I had to do this, Samantha Carter. But you must not leave."

As her legs folded, everything ground into slow motion. Sam opened her mouth to scream her indignation, but nothing emerged. Her fingers scrabbled frantically and found Jackie was still there, cuddled against her. Speckles of gray clouded her eyes and morphed into a black void that sucked her down into its depths.

Nooo . . . !

xXx


	16. Chapter 16

Yep, though it took awhile, I finally got this chapter out. Thanks again to Jolene for her help. I couldn't do it without her. And thank you to all of my readers, whoever you are! You are totally awesome and I don't know what I would do without you! Dinky

xXx

Ernie sighed as he looked upon the slumped bodies of Samantha Carter and Jackie – who was draped across the woman who had given her a name. Even unconscious, the strong-willed Carter still clutched the child's body in her slack fingers.

He had hated to do this to her, but had run out of options when it became clear that Sam planned to let nothing stand in her way of reviving Jackie, even if it meant placing herself and the child in danger by transporting back to Tartarus. At that point it had become crystal clear to him that her grief had taken her to a place where reason and logic did not apply.

The Asgard physician moved several shells on the console and watched as twin flashes of light enveloped the bodies on the floor. Sam reappeared inside the medical pod she had only recently vacated. At the same time, Jackie appeared in the one that Sam had wrested her from in her ill-thought attempt to save a life that was already beyond any hope of resuscitation.

He trotted over to Jackie's pod and touched the console; in response, an opaque covering slid over the still form and allowed only a shadowy outline to be seen from the outside. Knowing Jack as he did, he realized he would want privacy for the child, even if she were not capable of objecting to curious eyes herself.

Then he hurried over to Sam's pod and monitored the instruments. She appeared to be asleep, but her eyelids flickered and she moaned. According to the readouts, she was in REM sleep, but whatever dreams she had were apparently not restful.

Tears leaked from her closed lids and trickled down the side of her face, leaving wet trails down her neck. "No, don't . . ." she murmured as her head jerked from side to side. "Please don't go . . ."

Ernie's eyes widened and then he shook his head with regret. When he touched another button on the console, she quieted.

Ernie continued to study Samantha Carter's unconscious form with concern. Because of the stress of her captivity, he had been willing to make allowances for her behavior. However, her attachment for the child, Jackie, seemed irrational given that this was not truly her own child and she could not have had enough time to build a relationship with her.

And then there had been the female's very valid concern that her reproductive organs might have been irreparably damaged at the hands of Baal's butchers. Ernie was extremely thankful that this had not occurred, not only for Carter's peace of mind, but also for the implications that came to mind. For any offspring of Jack and Sam would provide many years of exciting study for him.

As irrational as it seemed, however, Sam's attachment to Jackie seemed genuine, which meant that the news of the child's death had been extremely traumatic for her. From his study of human psychology and the stages they experienced when confronted with death, he was able to categorize Sam's reactions, first had been her denial that the child was dead. Sam's escape into the scientific explanations of Jackie's creation was also, inherently a form of rejection of a fact that she was not yet able to deal with effectively.

In addition, Sam's attempt to revive her with the help of a sarcophagus, while a seemingly reasonable solution, also served to illustrate that she continued to deny the fact of the child's death. For he had attempted to explain to her that the child's DNA was inherently unstable and even the miraculous efforts of the sarcophagus would not solve that particular problem.

Knowing the particular humans onboard as he did, he was especially concerned about Jack's reaction. For, if what Sam had told him was true – and his own medical scans confirmed it – this was truly his child, if not exactly one that he had wanted. And Jack would have also formed an attachment to her. His very nature guaranteed it.

As Sam's condition seemed to have stabilized for the moment, Ernie left her pod and trotted over to the one that housed Jack. His obsidian black eyes studied the instruments and he nodded. It was as he had thought; Jack had experienced an intracranial bleed, probably brought about by a blow to the head. This would explain his erratic behavior prior to his collapse.

Ernie had been able to repair the ruptured blood vessel, but the resulting swollen brain tissue was another matter. While little could be done but to monitor his condition, Ernie was certain that there would be no damage. There was only so much even he could to under some circumstances. Time would heal these physical wounds, but as for the emotional, that was another story indeed.

Though there was much about the death of Jack's son, Charlie, that Ernie was not privy to, what he did know led him to believe that Jackie's death was an event that had the potential to devastate the man. It made him doubly thankful that Jack was in the pod sedated where he could be monitored more closely. He would not want to do to Jack what he had just done to Sam.

The attachment that Sam and most probably Jack had formed with the child, Jackie, was truly a puzzle to Ernie, and he was glad that he'd had the foresight to invite Heimdall to accompany him on this mission. His colleague had made some progress in his area of expertise, the study of the reproductive system of the primitive Asgard.

Though he was naturally curious about the idea of children and the process humans went through to give birth to them, it was an activity he could not imagine himself partaking in. As the humans would put it, it was an intriguing idea – for someone else – but he wouldn't want to do it.

In the meantime, it would behoove him to keep close tabs on Samantha Carter; she would awaken far in advance of Jack O'Neill. The death of the child had hit her hard and she would bottom in a hurry. Though, hopefully she could be ushered through the grieving process in time to help Jack upon his awakening. Having her there could mean a whole lot of difference. With that thought in mind, Ernie turned away from Jack's pod and walked back to Sam's.

She continued to move restlessly despite the additional sedative that had been administered. Ernie sighed and then pushed one button on the console. In response, Sam's restless movements ceased. An invisible field enveloped her body, relaxing her muscles and preventing movement from neck to toes. As it effectively restrained Sam inside the pod, Ernie realized with a pang of remorse that she was not going to like this, but given her previous irrational and potentially dangerous behavior, the Asgard physician felt he had no choice.

As for Jack, the swelling of his brain tissues would cause him to behave in a very emotional manner, even without the added complication of Jackie's death. The combination meant that he would have his hands full. He just hoped that since Sam would be conscious longer, and because she was uninjured, she would be less of a burden in that area.

The Asgard physician had to admit that as much as he loved the study of these humans – and Jack O'Neill in particular – the last thing he wanted was two severely depressed grief-stricken humans in various stages of meltdown on his hands. Despite what Thor might think of him, he was only one Asgard with a limited supply of compassion and energy to give to the humans he had modeled himself after.

Not to say that he wouldn't be there for them – in fact, he wanted to be there. However, from previous experience, he knew his services would be in high demand for the next few days, a thought exhilarating as well as daunting at the same time. These particular humans were too important to take the chance that he might miss something vital. As much as he hated to admit it, there was no way around it, he would need help. But who to ask?

If Heimdall could be convinced to help him out, it would be a help, but since neither Jack nor Sam knew this particular Asgard as well, they might be hesitant to confide in him – or trust him with their raw and very private emotions.

However, there was another Asgard present who would fit the bill perfectly. Jack and Sam had a long history with him; in fact, their relationship pre-dated that of his own.

On the downside, this particular Asgard might not feel comfortable in the role of a combination of supportive friend and counselor. Emotionally fragile humans tended to be very irrational and illogical – to make a long story short – a very messy business. And this specific Asgard could be considered 'uptight' even by others of his race. Plus this Asgard's comfort zone so did not include the touchy-feely, snot-slinging sessions that these human's might exhibit.

There was only one way to find out though. At the first opportunity, Ernie would have to ask him. What was the worst that could happen to him? While it was true that this Asgard might say no – loudly – but then again, he might just say yes.

Either way, getting the answer would be . . . instructive. And since Ernie had arrived in his own vessel, he probably wouldn't be ejected out the nearest airlock. Or at least not without a spirited chase, and Ernie knew he could outrun him in a dead heat. He paused, and savored the thought of a footrace between them and bounced with unrestrained glee.

Ernie had practiced one particular facial expression on the other members of the Asgard High Council, but to his everlasting chagrin, had been painstakingly ignored by that august assemblage. As the full ramifications of the situation occurred to him Ernie used it now – he smirked – an expression he had observed Jack use to great effect on many occasions.

Ernie could reach only one conclusion – Thor would have a cow when it hit the fan. And he would get to watch.

He bounced in place and then composed himself. No need to irritate the crap out of Thor from the start.

Ernie knew he would have to report the condition of his patients to the object of his amusement, so divested himself of his version of the human smirk. However, since he could not leave his post, the Asgard physician did the next best thing and moved the shell that allowed him to send his holographic image to Thor.

Thor's image appeared before him. "You have news?"

"Indeed I do, Jack suffered an intracranial bleed but has been stabilized in a medical pod."

Thor nodded, "He will survive this?"

"Yes, I repaired the ruptured blood vessel; however, I have detected swelling of his brain tissue which will subside in due course with no lasting effects."

"Very well, and Samantha Carter?"

"I had to sedate and restrain her." Ernie fidgeted while he waited for Thor's reaction, he didn't have to wait long.

Thor's eyes widened and he froze. "Why?"

"She became upset when told of the death of the child and planned to transport down to Tartarus and use the sarcophagus to revive her. I could not allow her to do this, so I sedated her."

"I see." Thor paused. "My instruments show that Baal's stronghold is deserted and suffered extensive damage. Moreover, soon after O'Neill and Carter were transported to our vessel, the Stargate on the surface was activated. It is my assumption that Baal escaped to another location."

"I see. Jack won't be happy to hear that."

"You were unable to save the child?"

"No, I was not. Her injuries were too severe. In addition, I discovered that the structure of her DNA was unstable." Ernie shrugged his thin shoulders. "Basically, it was only a matter of time before she died a horribly painful death."

"That is regrettable."

"You can say that again," Ernie replied, which earned him a 'Supreme Commander' look from Thor.

Thor sighed with seeming sorrow, "Samantha Carter has been informed of this?"

"Yes, I told her, but she didn't want to listen. As unlikely as it seems, she apparently formed a strong attachment to the child and was not willing to listen to reason. Jack, however, has not been told any of this yet as he has not regained consciousness."

"O'Neill will not welcome this news."

"Ya think?" Ernie ducked his head as if to avoid another glare from Thor. "I will have my hands full when Jack and Sam awaken."

"Should you require my assistance, you have only to ask."

"Good, I'll hold you to that." Ernie refrained from displaying his smirk of satisfaction, but only with a gargantuan effort of will.

Then as another idea occurred to him, its subject immediately sobered him as nothing else could. "In the meantime, I have isolated the child's body in another medical pod. I do not believe they would take it well if I were to dispose of it in our usual manner."

"I agree. These humans tend to be very emotionally attached to the bodies of their offspring. But it will have to be disposed of, for it would be too dangerous to allow anyone access to its genetic code, even flawed as it is."

"I will explain this to them. I am certain that Jack and Sam will be able realize the ramifications of this once they've calmed down. The hard part will be getting them to that point."

"You will, as the humans say, have your hands full," Thor agreed, paused and then his eyes widened as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Was any . . . unused genetic material left in Baal's laboratory on Tartarus?"

"I don't know, perhaps someone should check it out?"

"I concur," Thor nodded. "But who can be spared for such a task at this time? I do not believe it would be in your patient's best interests for you to be absent at this time."

"I agree," Ernie nodded so violently that his short body shot into the air and he had to grab the console to anchor himself. Thankfully, Thor did not seem to notice the less than graceful maneuver.

"There is no way I could be gone right now." Ernie paused and then raised one finger. "What about Heimdall? With his interest in genetics he would be the logical choice, and he would know what to look for in the labs."

"This is true; I shall inform him of this at once."

"I have the feeling that once he knows what you want him to do, there is no way you could stop him from going." Ernie smirked and then sobered when Thor gave him that look again.

"I have plotted a course for their home world, since there is no longer any need to remain in this area, we will leave after Heimdall has completed his exploration."

"Good, the sooner we leave the better in my opinion. I'll keep you posted on the progress of my patients."

Ernie closed the connection. Thor hadn't said no. Cool!

xXx

Heimdall materialized at the same site where the humans, O'Neill and Carter had been transported from inside Baal's stronghold. As he looked around, he took note of the damage that had been inflicted. Charred marks on the walls confirmed Carter's account of the last battle in which the child, Jackie, had been killed.

He looked down the hallway and considered his next move. He would have liked to have had more information, but since O'Neill had yet to reawaken, he would have to conduct his investigation by trial and error.

When Thor had informed him of his mission, he had a sudden epiphany – knew why Ernie bounced – he had wanted to jump and shout his joy at the chance he was being given. For if he was able to recover any genetic material, it would enable him to embark on the type of research he had only dreamed of. This was truly a chance that he could not resist, because it might result in the solution to the cloning problem his race faced. Unfortunately, their practice of cloning had driven their race to the brink of extinction, and he had made it his life's work to discover the solution to their problem.

With an effort, Heimdall calmed himself and his racing heart subsided to more normal levels. He would require all his senses if he were to be successful in this endeavor. And he must be successful; there was too much a stake to fail.

Heimdall turned to the left and skirted chunks of ceiling that had fallen to the floor. He had not gone far before he entered another room. In its center lay the shattered remains of two sarcophagi, both evidently abandoned by their owners because they were ruined beyond repair.

Speaking into the shell in his hand, Heimdall spoke to Thor's holographic image, "I'm standing in a room with two sarcophagi, both of which were destroyed."

"I understand. Have you found the laboratory yet?" Thor asked.

"No, but I will continue my search."

"Good, I will inform Eir of your findings thus far." Thor inclined his head and then his image winked out.

A quick inspection of the rooms that led off this central point revealed what seemed to be personal chambers that had been hurriedly abandoned, so Heimdall turned to walk back the way he had come.

It was not long before he had passed his initial beam-down site and entered unexplored territory.

When he came to an intersection, he paused and then turned to the right. This led him to a room that looked promising. It contained refrigerated cabinets and instruments that he recognized as those that were used to dissect and study individual strands of DNA.

He opened a cabinet and peered through the chilly fog on the inside. When it had cleared he picked up a vial and studied the label. "Ancient gene male Tau'ri," he murmured.

Then his eyes widened in surprise and his fingers tightened around the vial protectively. It would not do to drop this one; it was much too valuable.

He spoke into his shell, "Thor?"

"I am here, Heimdall," Thor's image appeared in front of Heimdall almost instantaneously, which told him much about how important the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet considered his search. "Have you found anything?"

"Yes, I have and I want you to transport this vial in my hand to my laboratory immediately."

"Do you wish to return to the 'Janet Fraiser'?" Thor's image asked.

"No, I want to continue my inspection," Heimdall answered.

"Very well," Thor said and then his image vanished.

The vial in Heimdall's hand disappeared in a flash of light. Only then did the Asgard scientist continue his search.

There was no evidence that anyone had thought to take any of the materials or equipment when Baal's stronghold was emptied for they would have never left behind such a valuable specimen. He redoubled his effort and was rewarded when he discovered another vial, this one with a different label.

"Tau'ri female eggs."

His long slender fingers clutched this vial with equal care and he turned from the cabinets. With the shell in his other hand he contacted the 'Daniel Jackson' orbiting above the planet's surface. "Thor? I have discovered additional materials that need to be transported to my laboratory onboard the 'Janet Fraiser'."

"Good, I will transport the material immediately. Is your search of the area complete?"

"No, but there are only two more rooms to explore and then I shall be ready to leave this facility."

"Very well, contact me when you are ready."

As Heimdall watched, dazzling white light surrounded the vial in his hand and when it disappeared, the container was gone.

His exploration of the rest of the cabinets and rooms that surrounded the laboratory proved fruitless, as they were empty of anything useful to the Asgard.

He raised the shell to his lips and activated it. "Thor?"

"Yes," Thor's image undulated in front of him.

"I have found nothing more and am ready to be transported back to the 'Janet Fraiser'." He paused and looked around the room one last time but it did not look like he had forgotten anything of importance. "After I have transported away, target these coordinates and destroy it. I think it would be wise that no material that I might have overlooked fall into the hands of Baal's henchman."

Heimdall cocked his head to one side in thought while he waited for Thor to lock in the coordinates and the transport to begin. As if he were talking to himself he spoke in a soft voice as the ideas ran through his head. "Let me see, these eggs combined with the other genetic material would allow me to reproduce what Baal's scientists did, only I know that I could succeed where they failed. With study, I can determine the flaw in the child's genetic structure. I could well discover the means to save the Asgard race from the extinction that our practice of cloning has caused," his voice rose with barely suppressed excitement. "It would indeed be the height of irony if Baal's machinations were the instrument of our race's redemption."

"Heimdall, are you ready for transport?" Thor finally asked.

"Yes, begin."

Heimdall knew that there had been much speculation that Jack O'Neill's offspring would provide the key to the survival of the Asgard. Now he would be able to ascertain if that theory had any merit. All of his hard work and selfless dedication was about to pay off.

Heimdall's excitement and determination outshone the brilliance of the transport beam as he shimmered out of sight.

xXx

To Be Continued


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks once again to everyone who is reading this epic that was supposed to be much shorter than it's turning out to be. Seems the characters have a mind of their own. And thank you to JoleneB for helping me out when I'd written myself into a corner.

xXx

Sam struggled to make sense of the bewildering cacophony of colors and briefly glimpsed images that swirled through her muddled mind. The images coalesced into cherished faces that were etched with concern and worry. Jack's gaunt features pinched with fatigue and a guarded grief that knew no bounds segued into an arrogant and unyielding Baal who overshadowed him and threatened to do irreparable harm to them both.

The Goa'uld was replaced by a younger face, one which had survived despite treatment that was meant to break an indomitable spirit. The childish features gazed raptly at her with a trust that grew by the hour. The small body of a girl snuggled into Sam's lap with a sigh of contentment as she stole a moment's rest and showed by this action that, despite the odds against it, Sam had won the trust of one who did not bestow it lightly. Sam smiled as she relived the moment, all the more treasured because of its brevity.

As if this brief thought triggered the dire events that followed, the youthful face grew slack and unmoving, struck down by a powerful blast that stole the light from her brown eyes, so like those of her sire. Cradled in her arms, the body of the child of her heart stilled, never to awaken again.

A sob tore through Sam's very being – soul deep – and left a gaping hole in her heart that seemed impossible to mend. Now she knew something of the grievous hurt that lurked deep within the brown eyes of the man she loved.

Jack, she cried, how is it possible to bear such loss and go on living? How do you do it?

Tears leaked from beneath her closed eyelids as she fought to win clear of such restless sleep. Anything was better than this morass of horrors that threatened to dissolve her will to fight.

Perversely, Sam's determined efforts to focus on something less menacing was thwarted, being unable to bring forth her vaunted powers of concentration, the predictable laws of physics did not serve her now. Her tried and true refuge was beyond her ability to reach, and that fact frightened her.

As she cast about in the whirling maelstrom of despair for a lifeline, her mind latched upon a phrase that her father, Jacob, had used when they had faced the death of her mother – his wife – so many years ago. She could still see him as he sat hunched next to her on her bed, his reddened eyes searching hers for understanding and forgiveness for inadvertently causing the death of her mother.

"Sammie, there will come a time in your life when all the book-learning and friends in the world will not be enough. And if you're smart, you'll turn to the one thing that will get you through it."

Sam blinked back tears that lately, always seemed to be there. "What's that, Dad?"

Jacob's arm rested on her shoulder in a fatherly hug and then he continued. "Your faith in a power greater than yourself, and all those books you love. I'm talking about God, Sammie – the same one that your Mom taught you about."

Sam had clasped Jacob's hands and squeezed them with hers as together they recited the words that had resounded inside her head throughout the interminable funeral service. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake."

As if her tormented soul had found a safe haven, these words filled her with a lightness of spirit that eased her mind and caused the desolation that had sapped her strength to abate. Automatically, her mind supplied the next lines to the oft-repeated psalm and without realizing it; her lips murmured the words to an audience that hovered above her half-conscious body.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

As if her words were a signal, the clouds of dark despair vanished and her eyes snapped open to the blindingly harsh world of reality.

A feathery light touch on her shoulder and the sound of her name told her she wasn't alone. "What are you talking about, Sam? You are nowhere near the valley of death. I won't let you go there for one thing. And what's this about rods and staffs?"

The voice sounded tantalizingly familiar, but her mind seemed to be unable to concentrate as well as usual.

"What . . .?"

At first the only thing she saw were two blurry black globes that glistened in the reflected light. She blinked and squinted, and they resolved into a pair of obsidian black eyes that regarded her with worry.

"It's me, Ernie. You can wake up now."

"Ernie? What happened?" She shook her head from side-to-side and tried to raise her hand to brush away an errant lock of hair that tickled her forehead. When she couldn't move, she frowned.

"Why can't I move?"

Ernie blinked and shook his head in seeming sorrow. "I'm sorry, but precautions had to be taken as you were acting in a dangerous manner."

She turned her head to look at the Asgard physician more closely, at least she could do that much, but the rest of her body seemed immobile.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Don't you remember?"

Sam's eyes narrowed and she wondered why she felt suspicious of his answer. "What should I remember?"

Ernie blinked again and drummed his fingers nervously on the pod beside her. "You were upset about the child, do you remember that?"

"Yes, I . . . " she paused as that tenuous feeling of suspicion gave way, replaced with grief, full and heavy, and no longer forgotten. "Jackie was severely injured and you . . ." She bit her lip and swallowed the sob that threatened to erupt. "You said she couldn't be saved." Her eyes welled up with tears. "Why couldn't you save her, Ernie? Why?"

"Do you also remember what I told you about her genetic structure – that it was unstable and that she was already dying?"

Her voice monotone flat, Sam nodded and relived the feeling of frenzy, of time running short and she felt – abject panic. "And I wanted to take her down to Tartarus to use a sarcophagus to revive her, yes I remember that."

"What do you remember after that?" Ernie prodded gently.

"You stopped me," she paused and then her voice climbed a few octaves and projected the emotion that was trying to overwhelm her, the panic still too close to ignore. She teetered on the brink, but Sam pulled herself back with an effort. The previous feeling of lightness of spirit calmed her when she called upon it.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." With closed eyes, she chanted the mantra that kept her from toppling over into a frenzied panic.

Before opening her eyes, Sam took a steadying breath before speaking. If she lost control of her emotions, she knew her erratic behavior would do no one – including her – any good. There were ways to express her feelings of betrayal without losing control; she'd learned that in the Air Force – the hard way. Being a woman in the military did that to you.

Resolutely, she forced her mind back to the present, back to Ernie. "You stopped me," she repeated, but this time her voice was lower, and all the more effective for it. "You injected me with something and stopped me from saving her." Her voice reeked with indignation, accusation plain on her face. "How dare you do that, Ernie? And you call yourself a doctor," she hissed out allowing him to hear the grief and anger she battled. Letting him know just how much of a betrayal his action felt like.

"The sarcophagus would not have saved the child, Samantha, even if it had been available. She would have died – again – in excruciating pain. As it was, we discovered later that the sarcophagus had been destroyed."

Sam's blue eyes spat fire as she glared up at him. "So what? You didn't want to bother with her? Was that it?"

"That is not true, Sam," Ernie denied and stepped back as if to avoid the sparks that fairly flew from her incensed glare. "I truly wish I could have done more to save her life, but I was unable to do so. You must believe me."

Sam watched as Ernie's attention was claimed by something out of her line of sight. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, a reminder that she was losing control of her emotions. She closed her eyes for a moment and reached for the calm that she'd known before. But it seemed to be out of her reach.

"It's hard to believe anyone that ties you down." Sam's head jerked up and down in her efforts to move the rest of her body. "That's what this is, isn't it?"

Ernie seemed worried and stepped over to the controls and hovered over them. He looked harried as his fingers flew over the keys.

"I am sorry, Samantha. You are 'tied down' but only to prevent harm to you. I would never . . ." He paused, seeming more concerned about the controls than what she wanted to say to him. That slight fueled her anger as her heartbeat soared and pounded in her ears, threatening to drown out everything else.

You motherless son of a . . ." Sam growled at him in anger as she lost the fight to keep her emotions at bay.

Ernie belatedly finished his sentence, ". . . do so except out of necessity."

"Release me!" Sam yelled, as she twisted and thrashed her head around as much as her restraints allowed. "Do it now!"

"Please, I don't want to sedate you again. All that could be done was done." Ernie's voice raised an octave as he pleaded with her in desperation.

"Yeah, like I . . ." Carter was yanked away from what she was going to accuse her Asgard physician of by a moan. Whipping her head away from the naked gray alien, she could just make out the third pod and the figure in it. To her horror alarms yammered for attention and the lights across its control panel flashed faster and faster.

"Ernie!"

Sam watched as the small Asgard ran-bounced to O'Neill's pod and neatly silenced the alarm, his long leathery fingers touched what needed to be touched to slow the lights and no other sound of distress was heard from the pod. Done, he swung back toward his conscious patient, only to nearly stumble at the sight of the figure that stood on the other side of Sam's pod. Ernie stopped in mid-bounce.

"Ernie," Carter demanded. "What's wrong with Jack?" She felt calmer, more focused, but completely worried.

Ernie wasn't given the chance to reply.

"Nothing is wrong with O'Neill." The words were stated with absolute certainty.

Sam's head swung around to see Thor, who glared at the other Asgard so intently that she was forced to look at him again. Through years of experience, she had learned that there were some emotions that did show when an Asgard experienced them deeply enough and she saw shame in this otherwise happy-go-lucky alien.

"Colonel Carter, I apologize. You have been deceived and this is something that I will discuss with Eir at length." Thor reached out and touched one control, dropping the force field that imprisoned her.

"Thor . . ." Ernie began.

"I do not believe there will be further histrionics."

Sam, who had been busy mulling over what had happened while watching what had to be the equivalent of an Asgard hissy fit, blushed bright red at Thor's words. She must have scared the dickens out of them. And with good reason, if she could have gotten her hands on any of them, she . . . Sam shook the thought from her head as she tested her new freedom to move.

"You're right. I've . . . I've allowed my emotions to get the better of me." She pushed herself into a sitting position. Ernie hovered anxiously, oblivious to his superior's unrelenting stare. "Aspirin. Got any aspirin?" Sam muttered sharply, as she ran a hand over her eyes. They felt like they were about to pop out of her head.

"Please . . ." pleaded Ernie, as his hands signaled her to lie back down.

And she did. A few deft touches of her pod's controls and her headache, cobwebs, and tiredness washed away. And for the first time, she realized how unreasonable she'd been. Just as unreasonable as any caring mother would have been.

She had seen the world as hostile toward her and her child, now she stood on the other side of the situation and saw it as caring and supportive. Sam's eyes were drawn inexorably to the most distant pod – and the body concealed inside it. Slowly, carefully she eased out of her pod and stood. Now not only Ernie, but Thor, hovered around her too.

The angry mother in her headed directly for it, the small occupant just a shadow of the vibrant youngster she had fallen in love with. Her hand lingered, fingertips lightly gliding across its surface as she traced the dim outline of the body residing within.

Jack. What would this do to him? Sam shuddered, which caused her vigilant escorts to crowd closer. Sam grimaced at the horrible taste of the grievous hurt that Charlie's death had branded him with. From Daniel she knew something of how close to suicide that pain had driven him. What would this do to him?

After all, look what it had done to her. She had only known Jackie for a handful of days, and the grief of the girl's death had driven her beyond all reason.

Sam loved Jack deeply, as he did her. That deep and abiding love allowed her to see the depth to which he was capable of devoting himself to another. Once his heart was opened he gave all of himself, even his very existence.

Had Jack allowed Jackie in? And would his love for Sam be enough to hold him from the high price he would demand of himself?

"Ernie?"

"Yes, Sam."

"Thank you."

"For what?" Ernie sounded truly puzzled. Sam smiled ruefully.

"For giving me the Asgard equivalent of a bucket of cold water in the face."

xXx

There was very little transition from being dead to the world and total awareness. One second he was totally oblivious to anything, the next a harsh and overwhelming world beat down upon him as he opened bleary eyes and then slammed them shut again to protect his eyesight from the glare of overhead lights.

He smacked his lips with distaste and gagged. His tongue felt furry, and as for the taste in his mouth, well let's just say he'd shoot whoever let the skunk into his bedroom in the first place. That same danged four-legged stink bomb must have crawled belly first through a sewer, then took up digs inside his mouth where it went tits up, probably from its own smell. Gack!

As for the particulars of how he knew what sewer sludge tasted like, well let's just say that if he told you, he'd have to shoot you afterwards. You could take his word for it though – he knew.

"Jack, wake up!"

This plea was accompanied by a touch on his shoulder. Funny – the voice sounded familiar but what was an Asgard doing in his bedroom? The last time he'd checked, he hadn't gotten that kinky. Even though the Air Force frat regs said nothing whatsoever about relationships with aliens – appropriate or otherwise – he was so not going there. Nope, no way on God's green earth, or anywhere else for that matter.

He took a chance and cranked open one eye a smidgeon. In front of him was the face of Ernie, the Asgard. So he'd guessed right about the identity of the speaker, but it still didn't explain why or how the little guy had gotten into his bedroom.

Jack licked dry lips and tried out his voice, "What cha doin'?" His voice cracked and he coughed to clear it of the aforementioned skunk leavings. It didn't help.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up. And it's about time you did," remonstrated Ernie with a bounce for emphasis. Jack winced away from the Asgard physician's obscene amount of enthusiastic energy.

"Go away," Jack muttered and waved bye-bye with the fingers of one hand.

Maybe if he ignored him he'd leave. Though it hadn't worked in the past with this particular alien, there was always the first time. Yepper, there was that he reminded himself sarcastically. And Vidrine would develop a sense of humor too.

"No, I will not go away, Jack. You need to wake up."

Damn.

"I don't wanna," Jack whined.

"O'Neill, you must awaken."

Crap, another one? What was going on? Did he miss the memo about the coffee klatch for naked little aliens in his bedroom?

He peeked from under half-closed eyes, "Give me one good reason."

"Because I said so," Ernie chirped with dogged determination.

The little guy should be shot for being unduly perky at a god-awful time in the morning. He'd do it himself if it didn't mean getting out of bed to shoot the aforementioned skinny-assed pain in the mik'ta.

He'd killed for less. More than once too.

Without warning, tears spilled from his eyes and tracked down his cheeks to puddle in his ears and around his neck. Great, now he'd have soggy sheets, and for no apparent reason that he could think of. This was so not going to do anything for his hard-ass special ops killer image.

"Crap," Jack sniffed as he tried unsuccessfully to halt the deluge that streamed from his eyes. "Just leave me alone. Why don't ya?"

"Jack, talk to me. Please." Sam's voice sounded worried. Now Sam in his bedroom he could understand, but Ernie, and Thor? 'Give me a frickin' break!' he thought with disbelief. This was his bedroom for crying out loud, not Area 51.

Jack's eyes snapped open and he flinched when Sam's fingertips dabbed unsuccessfully at the wet trails around his eyes. "Would someone please explain what two flat-assed Roswell-gray aliens are doing in my bedroom?"

His voice trailed off as he took in his surroundings. Unless Marty from 'Wormhole X-Treme' had done a number on his house, he was not in his bedroom. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."

"Who is Toto?" Ernie asked.

Jack rolled his eyes; he was not in the mood for a culture lesson. "Okay, now I'm really mad. What the hell is going on here?"

'And how in blue blazes did I wind up on an Asgard ship?' Jack thought. 'What have I done now?'

He knew this was not going to be good, nope, not good at all.

xXx

To Be Continued


	18. Chapter 18

xXx

Thank you to all the people who are reading this. And once again I have JoleneB to thank for the cliffie. Enjoy'! Dinky

xXx

"Don't you remember what happened?" Sam helped Jack sit up in the pod while Ernie and Thor watched. They looked worried, he could tell. Thor blinked a lot more when he was worried, and Ernie, well that particular little alien bounced in place. A lot. They'd make lousy poker players.

Jack's attention turned to Sam and he raised one eyebrow, Teal'c style. "Remember what?"

Sam exchanged significant looks with the butt-naked little gray aliens who were hovering over him as if he were spun glass. More tears coursed down his face and he surreptitiously wiped at them with his hand. For crying out loud, what was going on?

"Why are you crying?" Sam's voice was tentative, as if she were afraid of saying the wrong thing. They acted the way he did when certain members of his former team – who were of the female persuasion – were on the rag. Crap!

"Danged if I know," Jack sniffed. "Crap, would somebody tell me why I'm bawling like a baby for no apparent reason?"

"You received a blow to the head which caused an intracranial bleed," Ernie explained helpfully.

Jack shook his head and covered his ears as tears continued to stream down his face. "Ack! In English please?"

Sam smiled and tugged at his hands with her own and didn't let go of them right away. Her hands squeezed his with reassurance.

"You're suffering from a severe concussion."

"Okay – that I understand. Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Jack nailed Ernie with a scowl that seemed to have no effect on the guy. But then with the Asgard, it was hard to dent their air of superiority. Heck, maybe they were born – no, cloned – with it, sort of like they were injected with a hint of snootiness toward primitive races with stupid ideas. Well, the human's stupid ideas had saved their little gray asses more than once – so there.

"But how did I get a concussion? And where am I?" Jack looked around him, as well as he was able through the tears that obscured his vision. With all the water he was generating, he was beginning to feel like a goldfish in an aquarium. And wasn't there usually some kind of emotion that came with this leak? He didn't feel anything, or at least nothing that would explain this . . . this boo-hoo stuff.

Thor took over. "You are aboard the 'Janet Fraiser'. We transported you from Tartarus, the stronghold where Baal held you and Lieutenant Colonel Carter prisoner."

"This is a joke, right?" Jack's jaw hung open and his gaze wandered from one face to another. He rummaged around the attic of his memories for the events that they described and came up with nothing – zip, nada. It just wasn't there. Elvis had left the building and the fat lady had cancelled her engagement.

"No, Jack. It's no joke. I wish it were." Sam shook her head, her blues eyes solemn.

"Not a joke?" His dark brown eyes searched her face, waiting for the moment when the lights came on and everyone shouted 'surprise – April Fool'! It never came. Instead Ernie, the ebullient, put in his two cents worth. And in Jack's opinion, it wasn't worth a plug nickel.

"Nope," Ernie answered. Okaay, at least the little guy was short and to the point – pun intended.

"I would not joke about such a thing, O'Neill." Thor added.

"Of course you wouldn't, Thor. Do you even have a sense of humor?"

Thor blinked and looked constipated.

Jack ducked his head and looked sheepish. "No, wait, I take that back, you named a ship after me and then blew it up. If that wasn't worth a barrel of yuks, then I don't know what is."

Jack scrubbed his face with both hands and then fisted away the tears from his eyes. It seemed to help – a little – until they were replaced by more. At the rate he was going, he'd shrivel up like a prune from dehydration.

"Aah!" he groaned, not used to being both embarrassed and bewildered at the same time.

Then he straightened as some of Thor's explanation penetrated the fog that coated his brain like greenish slime crap that grew on the surface of a stagnant lake. "Did you say Baal?" He paused. "As in Slime-Baal?" Jack hooked quotes around the nickname with two fingers.

Sam nodded emphatically. "Yes, Jack. Baal had captured both of us."

"That's funny, I don't remember a thing." He sighed. "You'd think that I would . . . considering it was Slime-Baal and all. Shouldn't there have been a memo about that . . . or something?"

Sam ducked her head and bit her lower lip, then reached out to touch him, then seemed to think better of it and withdrew her hand where it dangled at her side.

"Will his memory return?" Sam asked Ernie.

Her lower lip was taking a beating, at the rate she was chewing; she'd have it shredded in nothing flat. Jack could think of better things to do with that lip, oh yeah, there was no doubt about it. Then he squirmed as those thoughts had the expected effect on certain parts of his anatomy. Down boy, he thought with discomfiture. No need to put on a show for the oh-so-nosy aliens, Jack mused.

"Yes, I believe it will, given time."

"Hey, I am here you know." Jack growled dispiritedly, relieved to have something else to think about . . . for now.

"Can't you do something to speed up the process?" Sam continued to chew away at her lip, and then winced and wiped a trickle of blood away with her hand.

Jack frowned and cleared his throat. He reached out to wipe away the thin trickle of blood from her face. Her blood stained his fingertips; he wiped it off on his shorts.

"Believe it or not, Sam, I am not Omniscient and there are some things that are beyond my power to change. The symptoms brought about by a severe concussion are just one of many of those things. As for the others, we've already gone down that road and I am certain that we don't want to revisit it." Ernie looked solemn and the reproving glare from Thor seemed to be ignored.

"Okaay," Jack drawled and then swung his legs around in preparation to getting out of the pod. "Well, if it's okay with you, I'd like to get the heck out of this thing, take a shower and get into something decent." He fingered the torn and grimy shorts with a forefinger and grimaced. "These things are so dirty they can just about stand up by themselves."

"Oh, I don't know, I kind of like the view," Sam giggled and ducked her head as if she didn't dare get caught looking at his naked chest, or those long lean legs. Well, at least he still had what it took to attract the ladies. And besides, the good bits were still hidden by his shorts. She could stare at those to her heart's content – later . . . much later. In private – very private.

"No giggling in the ranks, Carter," Jack scowled and the furrow between his eyebrows deepened. Then the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. As if a faucet had been switched off, the tears stopped. He blinked a few times, unwilling to trust the break in the weather, and then grinned.

"Hey, look, I've stopped raining," Jack smiled and bent to wipe off his face with the back of his arm. "And it's about time, don't ya think? I was beginning to feel like it was that time of the month for me, complete with crying jags and bad temper."

"I do not understand," Thor blinked and cocked his head. "To what are you referring, O'Neill?"

Sam blushed and stammered, "Um, he's referring to PMS, Thor."

Thor blinked again and looked clueless, but considering how they reproduced, he probably wouldn't have a clue about this . . . even if he tripped over it – so to speak. Now Ernie on the other hand, that little guy was way too curious for his own good about certain things. His curiosity just might land him in hot water if he wasn't careful.

"I know what you mean, Sam," Ernie bounced and all but waved his hand in the air to get their attention. "Premenstrual Syndrome. It occurs when the human female's monthly cycle ends and . . ."

Jack waved his hand like a traffic cop, "Ack! Stop!" He turned to Sam. "In case you didn't notice, you're embarrassing the crap out of Sam, so just cool it, okay?"

Sam smiled but kept her head down, as the rosy blush crept up her neck to color her face a shade usually reserved for lobsters fresh from the pot.

Sam stepped forward and took Jack's hand in hers. "Why don't you let me help you, Jack?"

"Don't mind if I do, ma'am," Jack drawled and tightened his larger hand around her slender fingers. He stood and swayed a bit which caused Sam to move closer to him, ready to support him if needed.

He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them as the room swayed, then steadied.

"Are you all right, Jack?" Ernie's leathery fingers brushed his wrist.

Jack pasted a smile on his face. "Of course, I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Being hit over the head with falling debris might have something to do with it," Sam muttered as if to herself. Jack looked at her sharply and she ducked her head. "Oh, did I say that out loud?" She asked with seeming innocence and a smirk of her own.

"Ya think?"

"Oh, sorry." In Jack's opinion, she didn't look like she meant it. For some odd reason, the word lingered and echoed inside his mind, refusing to go away, there was an almost queasy feel to it.

"Sorry?" He asked as if in a daze.

His hand swept past his nose to brush at his forehead, as if he could physically remove the word that seemed to tickle the inside of his brain. The scent of dried blood wafted past his nostrils and he gagged.

As if he were watching a movie, disjointed images suddenly flashed through his brain. A screaming Sam was held down with blood cascading down her abdomen. And Baal was there, a gloating smile on his face. Then Sam's face changed into that of a younger one, a girl that backed away from him in terror. But why? Jack shook his head as if to shake loose the answer, he momentarily staggered. Then the answer came – because he'd scared her.

He jerked as a touch on his shoulder ended the images that cascaded through the molasses he laughingly called a brain. "What?"

His fingers brushed at his forehead with consternation. Wobbly legs threatened to dump him on the floor and he leaned into Sam's embrace.

"Jack?" Sam looked worried. "What's wrong?"

"I . . . I don't know." Grimly he squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them. "For a second there, I was someplace else."

"Let's sit down," Sam advised. And he didn't argue with her, if he were honest with himself, his legs didn't feel all that steady, and he wasn't all that sure where the floor was. Everything felt . . . well, not quite there.

"Yeah, that might be a good idea." Jack nodded and accepted her support as they made their way to the chairs. Thor and Ernie followed them.

Once seated, Jack bent over, his arms propped on his thighs and his forehead cradled in his hands, exposing the full length of his back, muscles twitched in distress here and there under his grimy skin.

"What did you see?" A feather light touch on his arm caused Jack to turn his head. It was Sam and her blue eyes were wide with concern – or was it fear? And why would he think it was fear?

Jack blinked his eyes several times to get his bearings. "I saw you, Sam. And somebody was holding you down."

"Yes, go on," Sam encouraged him and squeezed his arm.

"You were screaming and blood was everywhere. And Baal was there too. What did he do to you, Sam?"

Sam avoided his gaze and her hands tightened on his arm in a death-grip. "It's a long story. What else did you see?"

Jack's lips thinned into a straight-line. He'd get that 'long story' out of her later. "I saw a little girl. The poor thing was scared to death – of me. Apparently I'd done something that she didn't like." He licked dry lips before he continued. "It all started when you said the word 'sorry'. Why is that?"

Sam licked her lips and she looked away. When she spoke her voice trembled. "Her name was Jackie."

"Jackie?" Flashes of a face, upturned to his as she told him her name, and who had given it to her. His words were halting, as if he were reading an unfamiliar script and didn't know his lines. "Yes, I remember . . . she told me you had given her that name . . . and that you were alive. Baal had told me that you were dead." Jack turned questioning eyes to Sam for confirmation of his words. It all felt so much like a bad dream. But was it?

"Yes, you're remembering more, aren't you?" Tears trickled down Sam's face.

"I think so, but . . . there's more . . . but I can't get to it right now," Jack whispered with frustration. Everything was right there, but he couldn't touch it. "Who is Jackie and where is she now?"

Then he stiffened as the word 'sah-ree' reverberated through his mind. A face upturned as her brown eyes – so much like his own – glazed over in death.

Jack's eyes, more black-pupil than brown, bored into Sam's. "She's dead, isn't she?"

Sam nodded, and he scooted his chair next to hers and then drew her into his arms. "It was an accident," she mumbled into his neck. "She was your daughter, Jack."

He stiffened and looked into Sam's face with disbelief. "My daughter?"

She nodded, but said nothing and buried her face in his shoulder.

Ernie spoke up. "I can explain."

"Then do it," Jack demanded with clipped words, "And be quick about it."

"According to what she has told me, Baal's genetic specialists extracted some genetic material from both you and Sam and used it to create several girls, most of whom died soon after their creation. Sam met one of them and named her Jackie. She was transported up to our vessel when we beamed you out of there." He paused and laid a hand on Jack's shoulder. "I am sorry, but I was unable to revive her. The wounds were too severe." Ernie took a deep breath before he continued and Jack stiffened for the blow he knew was coming. "However, upon further examination, I discovered that her genetic structure was flawed, she was already dying, and had she not been killed, her death would have been most painful."

"Where is she?"

"In the far medical pod, I was not sure what you would want to do with her body, but felt you and Sam should be able to make this decision."

"Well, you thought right." He looked down at Sam who seemed to have recovered some of her composure. "I want to see her."

"Of course," Thor nodded his approval.

"I'd like to go too, if that's okay with you," Sam offered. Then she turned to Ernie. "I'll be all right. I promise."

"I have no doubt that you will." Reminded of the sad circumstances of Jackie's death, Ernie had lost his bounce, but seemed determined to help out his human friends. "Thor, do wish to aid me?"

"Yes," Thor's head bobbed and his long spindly arms reached out to Jack. "Allow me to assist you."

Jack hesitated and then smiled. "I think I'll take you up on that offer."

Within minutes Jack, his fingers entwined with Sam's, stood beside the medical pod, though he could barely discern the outline of a figure within. He looked down at Sam who nodded and squeezed his hand.

"Do it," Jack ordered as if he were a general who commanded his men to undertake a suicidal mission, even if it ripped the heart from his chest.

The lid slid away and revealed a child with a dirty face. All care lines had been erased and she looked as if she were asleep. Unexpectedly, her lips were upturned in a smile, in sharp contrast to the reek of charred flesh that hit his nostrils like a sledgehammer as soon as the lid was opened.

Sam gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand. "She looks like she's asleep . . . and that smile – I remember that smile." Her voice wavered on the verge of breaking into a sob and when Jack's hand released hers; his arm snaked around her waist to draw her closer to him.

As if in a dream, Jack relived Jackie's final moments. "She said she was sorry, and that she could see her sisters."

"And you asked her to stay, but she . . . she couldn't." Sam sobbed and turned to lay her face against his chest. Jack wrapped both arms around her as she grieved for a girl who had seen far too much and died too young.

"What do you wish to do with the body?" Thor sounded almost apologetic.

"What?" Jack's voice bordered on angered incredulity. "Here I am looking at the body of a little girl who is dead because of me, and you already want to get rid of her? Have a heart, why don't ya?"

Sam jerked in his arms and then buried her face in his chest while her body was wracked with barely stifled sobs. Jack desperately needed to comfort her, but not like this. There were too many eyes and too much to deal with. He could barely cope with what he was remembering, but would put all that away for later for Sam.

"I am sorry if I offended you, O'Neill, but we must do something."

"Can't it wait?"

Thor sighed. "It can wait, for now. But we require an answer soon."

"It can wait until I say it's time. What's your hurry anyway?" Jack spat bitterly, his eyes dark and icy cold. He hugged Sam closer, protectively, possessively. They both needed somewhere quiet, some place where they could be alone. Together they could handle this – he hoped.

Thor seemed to choose his words with care. "There are those who would seek to benefit from the mistakes Baal's genetic specialists made. They would see the child's body as a treasure trove, one they would exploit with no thought as to the consequences beyond what power they might gain from such a scheme."

One arm left Sam's back and he held up a hand for attention. "Later. We'll deal with it later – after I've had a bath and changed into some clothes that don't reek. Does that satisfy you?"

"It does," Thor blinked and turned to Ernie. "Please direct O'Neill and Carter to the appropriate facilities."

"Yeah sureyabetcha!" bounced Ernie. "I had them installed especially for you, Jack. A shower and bedroom, complete with clothes that were made with you and Sam in mind."

"Sweet," Jack's face tightened into a half-smile as he bent to talk to Sam, whose sobs had subsided. He was relieved that the subject had been changed to something a little less emotionally charged. At that moment, he felt like he'd been dumped into an emotional minefield, where any misstep of his – or anyone else's – had the power to devastate him and Sam. "Did you hear that? They've got real showers here – and a bed too." He leered at her upturned face and waggled his eyebrows roguishly.

Sam's despair evaporated as she too grabbed the change of topic with both hands. She slapped his chest and grinned teasingly. "A shower?" She sniffed and wiped surreptitiously at her tear-streaked face.

"Yep, Ernie had it installed special – just for us. It would break the little guy's heart if we didn't put it to good use."

"That is the best news I've heard in quite some time," Sam said with a solemnity that just about broke Jack's heart when he heard the sadness that imbued her words. He could tell that she'd taken Jackie's death hard, and that was one occurrence he wouldn't wish on anyone, not even Kinsey. On second thought . . . nah, not even that smarmy no-good asshole, wherever he was.

Right now Sam needed him, she was his first priority. Away from prying, sex-curious alien eyes he could comfort her. Somehow soften the pain he knew only too well, the kind that could eat you alive if you let it.

Then . . . he'd deal with the death that caused her sadness. And perhaps the fire he intended to light would diminish his own, the sadness he could see but not touch. Jack knew that if he couldn't somehow do that, he might not survive it again.

He'd nearly drowned in Charlie's death. His resuscitation was brought about by a boy's fascination with his lighter – and a man with a boy's innocence – Daniel. Jack had no desire to drown in his not-quite-remembered daughter's death. But he sure as hell would see to it that Sam didn't.

One arm remained encircled around Sam's waist as he gestured with his free hand. "To the showers! Lead on, MacDuff!"

"Tally ho!" Ernie shouted as he bounced out of the room, Jack and Sam followed close behind.

xXx

To Be Continued


	19. Chapter 19

Thanks once again to JoleneB for adding her expertise in this chapter. A warning is needed. Lot's of nekkidness and slippery curves ahead! Enjoy! Dinky

xXx

Several hours later in the low light of what passed for a bedroom in the eyes of the Asgard, Jack O'Neill startled awake. From habit he controlled what would have been enough movement to wake the woman that slept beside him. Her face buried next to his shoulder, her arm possessively positioned across his collarbones. Sam's fingers curled around his other shoulder; as if afraid he would slip away while she slept. Or that she might awaken alone, with no idea as to his whereabouts.

Jack could certainly relate to that, and given what they'd both been through, it was an understandable as well as predictable response. Given his history of Iraq, and a whole slew of other captors he'd had the misfortune to meet up with, he'd have a similar need to keep her close for the foreseeable future . . . go figure.

He allowed himself the pleasure of recognizing the sensation of a warm breast against his chest as it pinned his arm down. Just a second of self-indulgence before he swiped a hand at his face to smear away the tears he had awakened with.

Jack wondered how he could cry. Then again, maybe he should. But what were the tears for? Jackie – a child he had neither wanted nor gotten close to – or Sam, for what she'd been through and her sorrow over losing a child that could have been – and in her eyes –was theirs.

Jack and Sam had followed Ernie to the room he described as a bedroom. A round, low platform stood in the exact center of the perfect square of the room. It was utilitarian light gray, with a texture that said cloth, but acted more like stiff gel, the same material served as a continuous bench against the darker gray-blue most Asgard ships appeared to be colored. Both bed and bench were almost high enough to be at a comfortable sitting height.

Opposite the entrance that had scissored like crossed bird's wings into the wall, was an identical entrance – the bathroom – and the only almost normal human accommodation Jack had ever seen in as Asgard vessel. He saw what appeared to be actual earth-normal chromed showerheads, faucets and matching drains set into the wall and floor.

"Towels?" Inquired Sam.

Her query seemed to be the only encouragement Ernie needed as he demonstrated a gadget that had her smiling. Warm air – and a warmer beam of light – was used to suck away all the moisture as if it had never been there, according to their Asgard bellhop.

"Sweet, like a big honkin' dryer for humans," had been Jack's dry comment which caused Carter to giggle and Ernie to bounce with even more enthusiasm.

Jack recalled their mutual haste to eject Ernie from the haven assigned to them. As soon as the door shut on the little gray alien they had both shed clothes in a dead . . . ah, fast walk to the showers.

The water was hot – as was their shared intimacy. Their joining both fast and frenzied, over faster than their minds could comprehend what had they had done. Jack could tell that for all the urge to do the deed, it had left an unpalatable taste in both of their mouths – just a mindless knee-jerk reflex to prove they both still lived – the act of survivors.

Sam and Jack had both stumbled over apologies, horrified at cheapening something they had always found so precious. Sam's renewed tears and Jack's sudden inability to stand landed them both in the alien bed. For long hours they had held one another as each told the tale as they knew it. Jack's memory was nearly complete, but Sam filled in those rough spots and painted those he would never have known.

Jack had held Sam as she cried for the child that should never have been. Slow tears of his own slowly slid down his cheeks to fall upon her naked back. She clung and shuddered against him, eventually falling silent as the slow rhythms of sleep claimed her.

Jack debated whether he should take the chance of sliding out of bed and possibly disturb Sam, or if he should stay where he was with the hope that he might catch up on some badly needed sleep. He stretched cautiously and Sam squirmed a little, but her fingers did not loosen her grip on his shoulder.

"Stay it is," he muttered to himself as he tried to relax his still tense body.

Air from an unseen ceiling vent caressed his nude body and ruffled the hairs on his bare arms and legs. It wasn't painful, but just enough of a distraction to turn his attention to less stressful topics. Put in simpler terms, it bugged the heck out of him.

Glad of the diversion, he resolved to tell Ernie that they needed a blanket, or at least a sheet. It wasn't that they were cold, thanks to Asgard technology, the room temperature was nearly perfect, but he wanted the privacy – both for himself and Sam too.

A soft sigh turned his attention back to the woman at his side. Her blue eyes looked at him and a frown creased her face. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Was just thinking, that's all," he shrugged, suddenly aware of her fingers against his skin.

Sam traced his collarbone with her fingertips as she propped herself up with the other elbow. "Now that's a scary thought," she grinned impishly.

"Ain't it though?" He smirked and reached out to brush back her hair. She leaned into his touch and his eyes smoldered, dark with desire and want of her. His hand came to rest on the back her neck and drew her to him until they laid face to face, his arm held her against his firm body. He nuzzled her neck and she shivered with anticipation.

Jack suddenly broke off his attack of her skin to look up and his eyes searched the room with suspicion. Surprised, Sam looked at him with a question on her lips. He shook his head and placed his fingers against her mouth to silence anything she might say.

"Ernie?" His voice boomed into the otherwise silent room. "If you think you can do the peeping tom bit on us, you've got another think coming." He paused and listened, but heard nothing but the beating of his heart and Sam's stifled breaths. Her hand covered her mouth as she smothered a nervous giggle.

"Ernie, I mean it. Stay the heck away from us, or I swear, I'll kick your skinny gray ass all the way back to the Asgard High Council . . . by way of Thor."

"You wouldn't." The words appeared to come from the ceiling and Jack's eyes searched for a loudspeaker but could find none. Since neither of them had said those words, they knew the only other person . . . entity . . . whatever . . . who had.

Jack looked at Sam who blushed bright red and tried to fig-leaf various parts of her body with her hands . . . unsuccessfully – very unsuccessfully. Jack was momentarily distracted by the unusual effect of her embarrassment on certain parts of her anatomy that were usually covered by clothing. Who'd have thought that . . .

"Uh humm!" Sam cleared her throat and glared daggers at him – Jack jerked his attention away from Sam's spectacular body and back to the problem with Ernie – with a whole lot of regret. There was no doubt about it, Ernie was gonna pay for this interruption, he vowed silently to himself.

Jack smirked and mouthed, "Watch this," and pointed upwards.

"Wanna bet?" Jack quirked one eyebrow upwards as he spoke to the air in a loud voice.

From the abnormally loud electronic click – one that Jack knew Ernie had to deliberately cause – he deduced that Ernie had decided a little voyeurism wasn't worth a reprimand from the High Council – and Thor – and had left them alone – for now.

Jack grinned and reached out to Sam, his hand caressing her shoulder. "Now where were we?"

xXx

Sam let the hot water hit her upturned face. She opened her mouth, let the water fill it, swished it around, and then bent over and spat it onto the wet floor by the drain. She braced herself with both palms flat on the burnished wall in front of her and let the water knead the tense muscles in her neck and upper back.

Mesmerized, she watched cross-eyed as droplets formed on the end of her nose and then lost the battle against surface tension and surrendered to the law of gravity and plummeted to splat against the floor. Physics at work in the real world, she mused. If only her real-life relationships were as easily explained and managed.

She spat onto the floor and watched enthralled as the minute bubbles swirled down the drain by the spattering water from the showerhead. She rotated her head to loosen the neck muscles that refused to relax and groaned. The shower wasn't working – nothing was working.

Frustrated, she hit the wall with her palm. No matter what she did, she still felt empty inside, as if a crater had been carved inside her heart that wanted filling – but with what?

"Jackie," she murmured and damned herself for caving in. She'd vowed that she'd cried enough, she had no more tears to shed for the child. But no matter what she told herself, no matter how much she cried; there seemed to be no end to the tears and her sorrow.

As if that thought alone were enough to weaken the already fragile bulwark she'd built to prevent any more tears from escaping, she sobbed and then bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was to wake up Jack. He needed his rest, and if he thought for a minute that she was bawling her eyes out in the shower, he'd want to find a way to comfort her. And for once, she didn't think he could. No one could. This was something she had to work out for herself.

She stood as another sob threatened to break past her barrier of clenched teeth. Then she turned and slid down the wall and sat on the wet floor, arms wrapped around her torso, totally unmindful of the water that beat upon her face and breasts. Her own tears mingled with that from the shower as her chest heaved with the sobs that wracked her naked glistening body.

Sam bit her lip and forced her attention to other things, something that would extricate her mind from the morass of sadness that threatened to suck her down into its chaos where she would drown.

Jack . . . Yes, he was a safe subject – much safer.

Once he had gotten rid of Ernie's attempt to eavesdrop, their love had been more to her liking, and from the smile of contentment on his face, more to Jack's also. She preferred not to dwell on their first attempt and shuddered at the sheer animalistic instinct that had driven their desires.

No, better to remember their most recent passionate embrace as they'd made love with such tenderness; each one yearned to satisfy the other. Their love made all others in her experience pale by comparison.

While it was true that she hadn't had much experience in that department – given her penchant to put her work and career over relationships – and the fact that most of her boyfriends ended up dead or were control freaks, the tenderness they showed for one another took her breath away.

The quality of their relationship even made Sam wonder if those romance stories she abhorred might have a grain of truth to them. But if anyone ever accused her of liking those bodice-rippers, she'd call them a liar. And be able to prove it with one of her mathematical formulas too.

She giggled at the absurdity of her thoughts and then noticed something important. At some point, the tears had stopped and the only water in her eyes was the result of the shower that continued to pummel her head and torso.

Sam pushed herself to her feet and turned off the water. Then she stood in the indicated location – arms extended – and let the warm air and soft light dry her. She could get used to this sort of thing. But then again, maybe she could rig one for her own use on Earth? It shouldn't be that difficult to do – and if she could build her own nacquadah reactor, then this would be a cinch. And it would be a surefire hit in the locker room at the SGC. She bet that even the Marines would love it, though they wouldn't admit to such a thing in public.

With an effort, Sam banished even those thoughts from her head and concentrated instead on just feeling the sensation of warm air on her skin. Wrapped up in the wonderful warmth provided via Asgard technology Sam was loath to leave, so much simpler not to think, just feel the simple things. Arms snaking around her waist shattered her temporary haven and she automatically tensed, then relaxed and smiled when she caught the scent that belonged to only one person.

"Jack?"

"Hey gorgeous," he smiled and nibbled her lips. "You look good enough to eat," he murmured as his tongue sought entry to her mouth.

Her arms cradled the back of his head. "Hey flyboy," she paused and drew back to look at him, all of him. "You should know better than to sneak up on a trained killer like that."

"Oh yeah?" He smirked. "What were you going to do, bite me . . . again?"

"Well, let's just say that your sidearm would be . . . out of commission for a while."

Jack's eye's widened with mock fear as his eyebrows climbed for altitude. "You wouldn't."

"How was I to know it was you? And besides, you taught me to disarm my opponent any way I could."

"There is that," he admitted, his arms still around her waist.

"Much as I would love to let you have your way with me . . ." Sam laid her head on his shoulder. "There are things we need to do."

Jack rested his head against hers and sighed. "Unfinished business?"

"You could call it that."

"Yeah, I guess we've put it off as long as we could."

"Still, it was nice that we had this time to . . . regroup."

"Umm hmm," Jack nodded and blew her hair away from his nose.

xXx

Donning a clean set of BDU's had made Jack feel like a new man. As he walked down the hallway with Sam, he noted that she automatically matched his long-legged stride with her own. After all they'd been through, she'd certainly had plenty of time to get used to it, he mused.

His hands twitched with the sudden need to take her hand in his, but resisted it. They were both in uniform – and that meant they were on duty. The fact that they were light-years away from their home planet was irrelevant. And it did not matter that the President had sanctioned their relationship. There were certain things one did and did not do when in uniform. And handholding and other intimacies was high on the list of 'conduct unbecoming'.

Once out of the shower they'd taken the time to talk about their 'unfinished business' as he'd called it. Surprisingly, Sam had been able to speak about it with little emotion. Maybe she'd just needed some time alone to deal with the overwhelming emotions that surrounded any death, let alone the loss of a child.

Though he had noticed that at times, she'd duck her head and whisper words to herself that he hadn't been able to make out. Not that it mattered in the long run whether the words were some mumbo-jumbo mathematical formula or a prayer, as long as it worked for her. Whatever got you through the night when past ghosts became all too real. That was all that mattered in his book. He'd had to learn that the hard way.

It had been Sam's idea to have Jackie's body incinerated and the ashes shot into a nebula. The solution felt right to him. Not only did it prevent anyone from trying to dig up the child's remains, from the little time he had known her, he thought Jackie would like lying at rest amid the many glorious hues of space.

Sam had brought up another detail that had immediately captured his attention though – the genetic specimens that had been forcibly removed from their bodies by Baal's mad scientists. Had they been all used up in the failed experiments with Jackie and her sisters? Or more ominously – was there some still floating around loose somewhere? And if so, who had it? And what were their plans for it?

When he'd regained his memories of how Sam had died and what they'd done to him to remove the genetic material, he'd just about lost it. He'd examined certain parts of his anatomy while she was in the shower and couldn't even find a scar. And he'd already proven – several times – that they were in working order. He supposed that was one of the few things he could thank the sarcophagus for – one of the very few.

When he'd posed the question concerning the whereabouts of the rest of their stolen DNA, she'd gone pale-white. She could see the ramifications of it as well as he could.

Sam halted in mid-stride and laid her hand on Jack's arm to get his attention. "Wait a minute, I just remembered something. Ernie mentioned that they'd discovered that the sarcophagus had been destroyed. That means the Asgard must have done a recon of the area before we left."

Jack stood stock still as his mind worked out the ramifications of that revelation. "And if they did send somebody down to look around, maybe they checked the labs too. It would be a reasonable assumption to make, given what they might find there. I know in their place, I would." He started walking but picked up the pace.

Sam had to lengthen her stride to catch up. "But wouldn't Thor tell us if they'd found anything significant like that? He knows how we feel about things like that, doesn't he?"

Jack sighed and shook his head. "I would think he would, but now I'm not so sure. We'll ask him and go from there." Then he smirked down at Sam. "And sheets, we need some sheets for the bed."

"But no towels," added Sam with what he swore was a leer.

xXx

Heimdall hefted the two vials in his hand and sighed. One was labeled 'Ancient Tau'ri male', the other 'Tau'ri female'. Thus far his studies had been . . . unproductive – frustratingly so.

He placed both vials back in the refrigerated storage container and sat down in front of his computer console. As he reviewed his findings from the primitive Asgard male that been found adrift in space, he had come to the realization that when the individual genes were examined, they held little in common with those of the present Asgard people. So much had their bodies changed with the advent of the cloning process that they no longer appeared to be of the same species.

Heimdall searched his database for the file that delineated the specific traits found in the Ancient Tau'ri DNA. When he called the results up on his screen, His long powder-gray fingers pointed to one section and then another as he compared them with that of the primitive Asgard for differences and similarities.

When they were laid side-by-side, he discovered many similarities, in fact, more than he had originally thought would be found. His breath caught in his throat as he recalibrated his test to recheck his findings. His fingers flew over the keypads.

Then he waited for the results, almost reluctant to exult as yet. For too much rode on the outcome of his thus far secret experiments. Even Thor was not privy to what he was doing. But would not it be worth it if he could save their race from extinction? He thought it would and knew others of his race who would agree with him and what he did now.

Blinking lights on his computer console caught his attention. He pressed more buttons to check that there was no mistake. The same answer remained. Then he saved his results and encrypted the results.

Heimdall knew he could put it off no longer; he needed to talk to Thor. He just hoped that The Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet would be sympathetic when he heard what he was about to tell him.

Before he could more than think the thought, something clamped around his neck, cutting off his ability to breathe and he was jerked around and off his feet. Before him was a very angry face and beyond stood the personage he had intended to talk to. Heimdall had never seen such a shocked expression on any Asgard face before.

Through the curiously loud roar inside his head he at once placed the words as being spoken by Thor. Only he was too distracted by his inability to reason out what the words meant, as his physical sensations were absolutely fascinating. Did someone turn down the lights?

"O'Neill!"

xXx

To Be Continued


	20. Chapter 20

Whew! It's been a real experience writing this and at times it seemed like it would never end. I want to thank everyone who has read this fic, your numbers and reviews have left me with a sense of humility and thankfulness for people such as yourselves. Dinky and JoleneB

xXx

Jack O'Neill ignored Thor's outcry as his arm tightened its stranglehold around the scrawny neck of the Asgard who thought he could use the material that had been forcibly stolen from his body for his own ends. So much for being able to trust their so-called allies, Jack thought with anger. There was already one too many of him, thank you very much. There. Would. Be. No. More.

Heimdall's body stiffened in his grasp as the spindly legs bicycled frantically in mid-air. Gradually, like an anorexic and bald Energizer Bunny with defective batteries they slackened their frenetic pace and began to slow.

"O'Neill, do not do this!"

Jack ignored Thor, he was the voice of reason and he was so not in the mood to listen to it. He was too angry . . . no, that was too mild a term. He was beyond that, pissed off, incensed, furious, yes – that might begin to describe his feelings.

Though it didn't even come close to describing his sense of betrayal by a race he'd thought he could trust – an ally – someone who supposedly had the best interests of their human friends at heart – if the bug-eyed refugee from a UFO convention even had a heart.

But the Asgard were supposed to be above that sort of thing, weren't they?

After all, with Baal and his snaky pals, they were the bad guys in black hats – and Baal seemed to take that appellation quite literally. You expected the bad guys to do nasty things to you; they were supposed to do that. That's what bad guys did.

And Baal was one of the best – bad guys that is. He'd proven it by outlasting his former cronies at the System Lords social club. Intelligence with absolutely no morals whatsoever, that seemed to be the winning combination where the snakeheads were concerned.

But the Asgard? They were the guys in white hats, the ones who held the bad guys at bay and stuck up for the underdog humans who were relative newcomers on the scene of intergalactic politics.

Jack's chain of thought hit a speed bump as he considered what had just run through his mind. Wait a minute; Asgard didn't wear hats, or clothes for that matter. Maybe that was a bad example – besides the fact that his mind couldn't quite wrap itself around the picture of Thor wearing a white Stetson.

"Jack," Sam's face swam into view and she laid her hand against his arm, the one that still threatened to choke the crap out of Heimdall. "No."

Her blue eyes begged him, and who was he to deny their request? When had he ever been able to do so? The memory of their eyes locked onto each other across the barrier of a shimmering force field while she begged him to leave her there replayed inside his head.

Jack bit his lip – okay, so he hadn't left her then, maybe that was another bad example. But he knew what he meant, he thought . . . and she was right. Wringing Heimdall's scrawny little neck would not help, though it would make him feel better – much better.

O'Neill loosened his chokehold on Heimdall's neck and lowered him so that the Asgard's feet touched the floor. Then he patted the mad scientist wanna-be on the shoulder and stretched his lips in a humorless grin, but his eyes remained hard and unforgiving.

His hand still rested on Heimdall's far shoulder – at another time it could have been interpreted as a reassuring hug between comrades. However, now it served as a warning that Jack was not a happy camper. Nope, not at all.

Heimdall gasped, his black eyes slid shut and then opened as he tipped his head upwards to gaze at Jack. One bony hand massaged his throat.

"Thank you, O'Neill, for showing restraint and understanding in this matter," Thor seemed calm but kept his distance from Jack as if he was not sure what the human would do next. Well, that made two of them because Jack was still very pissed off. Make that extremely pissed off.

Jack smiled and shrugged but did not remove his proprietary hand from the Asgard's shoulder. "I'm sure we can figure out what to do next – with Heimdall's full cooperation. Right?"

Jack squeezed Heimdall's shoulder in warning.

"What?" Heimdall looked confused.

"Perhaps I should explain," Thor said.

"Thank you Thor, that would be a wonderful idea," Sam took Jack's free hand in her own and smiled encouragingly at him. "Right, Jack?"

"Ya think?" Jack spat and then winced when Sam tightened her grip around his fingers. Dang, the woman must be working out, he thought.

Thor didn't seem fazed by their interplay and continued – either that or he missed it entirely, but Jack would put his money on him choosing not to notice it. You didn't become Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet by being a dummy.

"It was decided that someone needed to search Baal's laboratory for any genetic material that might have been left behind. Heimdall agreed to do this. While there he discovered several vials that contained material from both O'Neill and you. These vials were transported back to his laboratory onboard the 'Janet Fraiser'."

"Why couldn't you just leave it there, huh?" Jack growled as his long fingers 'massaged' Heimdall's shoulder and neck.

Heimdall winced and tried to edge away from Jack. However, Jack's strong fingers prevented him from going anywhere.

"It would be too dangerous," Thor admonished Jack. "Believe me when I say this. I did not make this decision lightly, and believed it would be far too dangerous to risk it falling into the wrong hands."

"And your motives are better . . . how?" Jack's wiry gray eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"I hoped to use your genetic material to save the Asgard race from extinction." Heimdall's voice was low and scratchy and his eyes were still wide with surprise.

He looked like he'd bolt from the room if he thought he could get away with it. As the Asgard remained where he was, Jack could only conclude that he knew what might happen if he tried.

"God save us from meddling scientists who are out to save the universe," Jack muttered to himself.

"Why don't I explain, Jack." Sam laced her fingers with his. "Heimdall, do you realize how this . . . genetic material was obtained?"

Heimdall blinked, "I am not."

"These . . . specimens were taken by force from our bodies by Baal's technicians. Jack endured excruciating pain during the process, and I was forced to watch. As for me . . . I died from complications during the operation. And Jack had to beg Baal to allow him to revive me in the sarcophagus." She took a deep breath before continuing. "So you can imagine our anger when we learned that you were using this material that was stolen from our bodies for your experiments."

"I did not understand the connotations . . ." Heimdall extended his hand toward Jack and Sam. "I had thoughts only for my research. Please accept my apology. Believe me when I say that no harm was meant."

"I know you'll understand us when we insist that this material must be destroyed, and we want to be the ones who do it," Jack ground out but ignored Heimdall's hand. He was still too angry to risk the temptation of breaking all the bones in that alien's skinny hand – body – whatever was handy.

"I will assist you in any way I can," Heimdall let his empty hand drop to his side and sighed loudly.

"As will I," Thor added. "And in doing so all hint of misunderstanding will be avoided."

Jack nodded curtly but did not relinquish his hold on the Heimdall's neck.

xXx

Sam watched carefully as Heimdall preceded Jack whose hand remained laid casually across the Asgard's neck as if to guide him. Sure, he was guiding him all right. And the 'guide' was a not so subtle reminder of what could happen should Heimdall attempt to hide anything from him.

She sighed and nibbled a fingernail in need of a trim; she hadn't seen him that upset in quite a while. Not that she could blame him considering that Heimdall had been doing the same thing that Baal's goons had done; only he'd been able to pretty it up a little. Still, it amounted to the same thing. Heimdall had stolen genetic material that was quite literally ripped from their bodies – stolen without their permission – to serve whatever whim the Goa'uld might have.

Though, being a scientist herself, she could almost sympathize with the enthusiasm that the Asgard geneticist had felt when he realized what he had . . . and what might be done with it.

However, since part of the samples were from her own body – samples that had been taken at the cost of her life – she had to side with Jack. Luckily, Thor believed as they did and once they'd related their concerns to him, had been as horrified as they were when he realized what Heimdall had done.

"You're sure that's all of it?" Jack's voice sounded distrustful and his fingers could be seen to tighten at the base of Heimdall's skull.

"Yes, that is all of it," Heimdall's voice squeaked with anxiety, or was it fear? "I swear it is."

"And your research data?" Thor's voice was implacable.

"You would destroy that too?"

"Yes," Jack's voice was flat with no compassion for the researcher's zeal whatsoever.

"But I was close to solving the cloning problem . . ." Heimdall whined and then yipped.

"And I very nearly lost one of my balls," Jack's voice took on a deceptively soft tone as he bent down to whisper into the Asgard's ear. "Do you have any idea how dearly I prize having a matching set?"

Heimdall shook his head, his black eyes wide. There was no mistaking the terror in those large black eyes.

Jack waved his free hand toward Sam. "Carter? Explain to Heimdall about Dick and the twins."

Sam wet her lips. "Besides being essential for reproduction, the male sexual organs basically define who the individual human is, how they act, and how they are treated by others of our species."

"And?" Jack's eyebrows rose suggestively.

"And, without them, the male is unable to achieve arousal during the sexual act, preventing him from aiding in the reproductive cycle."

"So, not only does it make me feel really good when I make love with Carter, without the twins, I cannot make babies with her. And I intend to make lots of babies . . . lots." Jack waved his free arm expansively. "Now, since you Asgard guys use cloning, I don't expect you to understand just how good it feels, or the importance of keeping the set in working order . . . but trust me – it's pretty high on my list of priorities. And on Carter's too – right?"

Sam dimpled and blushed. "Absolutely, sir."

"And we want nothing to impede this endeavor," Thor added. "Do we, Heimdall?"

Confused, Heimdall nodded – and then cringed away from Jack's hand and shook his head violently. "No, Thor. We do not." Then he seemed to do a double take as his whole demeanor changed and he actually seemed to radiate with excitement. "Offspring from O'Neill?"

"Yes, offspring from O'Neill," Jack smirked. "Only – not just yet."

"Definitely not yet," Sam blushed even more.

Then Jack added under his breath, "Not that you're going to ever get your mitts on them."

"We would not think of such a thing," Thor said in a shocked voice.

Jack raised one eyebrow and Sam grinned. She didn't believe Thor either.

xXx

Thor accompanied Colonel Carter and O'Neill back to the medical pod that enclosed the deceased child they called Jackie. O'Neill insisted on carrying the container with the genetic specimens himself, though he assured him that they would be safe in his care.

Apparently this unfortunate incident had eroded the trust that they had hitherto enjoyed with this remarkable human Thor thought sadly. His stiff demeanor saddened him as he had always looked forward to partaking of O'Neill's wit, even if it seemed to be at his expense. Thor realized that playing 'straight man' to his jokes did in no way lessen his authority as Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet as some of the more prudish members of the High Council had insisted on numerous occasions, instead it accentuated it. If that easy camaraderie had been lost, Thor knew he would miss it deeply.

Thor mentally composed the entry he would put into his verbal log after when he had some privacy. 'We go now to view the body of the one Carter named Jackie. They have insisted, much to my surprise, that they need to say 'good-bye' to her. This is puzzling as they are both very intelligent for humans, and must therefore realize that Jackie cannot hear anything they might utter.'

Yes, that would describe the scene and his reaction to it quite well, he thought to himself. And since he had a perfect memory, he would have no difficulty in reproducing those exact words later.

"Good to see ya back," Ernie piped at he met them at the door to the medical infirmary. "How's Heimdall doing?"

"The little runt seems to have a sore throat," Jack grunted. "He isn't talking much right now."

"That is most unusual for him," Ernie observed. "You usually can't shut him up."

"Heimdall is not himself at present," Thor said with a finality that even Ernie picked up on. "And is not receiving visitors."

"We've come to say good-bye to Jackie." Sam's arm was linked through Jack's free one.

"You've decided how you want to dispose of the body?" Ernie asked as he led the way to the only occupied medical pod.

"Yes, we will have her body cremated and the ashes shot into a nebula. I think she would like being out among the stars," Sam said with a sad smile. "Even if she never had the chance to see them for herself."

"I can do that; just tell me when and where." Ernie replied gravely, for once he moved at a more sedate pace.

Thor lagged behind, reluctant to intrude on O'Neill and Carter's private moment. Ernie triggered the pod's opaque covering to slide open and then stepped back.

"Eir," Thor beckoned to him with one hand. "I wish to speak with you."

"Thanks, Ernie," O'Neill gave him a tight smile and then stepped up to the pod with Carter.

"I believe they require some privacy for this," Thor said in a whisper to the Asgard physician.

"I am aware of that and had already planned to give them whatever time alone they needed."

"Thank you for your consideration of their feelings, Eir," Thor patted his Asgard companion on the shoulder.

Ernie nodded but for once said nothing; his attention was on the couple in front of them.

As Thor watched, Carter wrapped her arms around O'Neill's waist as they both stood in front of the pod that contained a child that should have never been. O'Neill's arm tightened around her shoulder as she leaned into his body. Even so, he did not relinquish his grasp on the container that hung from his other hand.

Carter only released her hold on her partner long enough to bow over their child's body for a brief moment. Then, she returned to her former stance.

O'Neill cleared his throat, "We're ready now. Right Sam?"

Carter nodded.

"We'd also like this container incinerated, along with the . . . body." Jack hefted the container. "Can you do that for us?"

"Of course," Eir exchanged a look in inquiry with Thor who only nodded his permission.

Together, Ernie and Thor walked to the medical pod and stood next to O'Neill and Carter. "Place the container in the pod with the body and I'll take care of the rest," Ernie instructed.

"Thanks for everything you've done for us – and for Jackie too. Even though you couldn't save her, I know you did your best," Jack added in a low husky voice.

"And I'm sorry for everything that I said earlier," Carter added. "I guess I wasn't thinking very clearly."

"That is to be expected when one has lost someone dear to them," Ernie explained. "I did not take it personally."

"That's a relief," Sam smiled but her eyes were full of tears. "I wouldn't want you to think I didn't appreciate everything you've done for us."

"We hold the deepest respect for both of you," Thor said with a slight bow. "And wish our mutually beneficial relationship to continue. It is my wish that you have no ill feelings toward anyone of our race. And if so, will confide your concerns to me."

"Give us some time," O'Neill said softly. "We both need to recover from this fiasco first."

"I will give you all the time you require," Thor extended his hand and O'Neill released his hold on Carter so that he could take it in his own. Though his size and strength dwarfed Thor's, the human's clasp was gentle.

"Are you ready?" Ernie asked.

"Just a minute," Jack placed the container at Jackie's feet and then brushed her cheek with his long fingers. Then he stood back and his arm encircled Carter's shoulder. "Now I'm ready."

Carter nodded and Ernie's fingers pressed several pads on the console. The lid slid shut and turned a solid gray. "The process will take several minutes."

Thor touched O'Neill's arm gently. "If you wish, you can transport to my vessel and the remains can be disposed of on our return journey to your home world. I am sure that the 'Janet Fraiser' is needed elsewhere as it has become the primary medical research vessel for the Asgard."

"Really? Janet would be honored to know that; don't you think so, Jack?"

"Absolutely. It just scares me when I see Ernie acting so much like her."

"If it offends you, I will stop, but I only do it to honor her memory." Ernie bobbed in place.

"No, don't stop. It's just a bit startling, that's all." Jack grinned, some of his usual humor surfacing once again.

The medical pod console beeped and Ernie turned to it. "I am transferring the ashes into a suitable container."

"Thank you," Sam smiled, "I really appreciate your help."

"Think nothing of it; we're friends, aren't we? And friends help each other out – right?"

Jack laid his hand on Ernie's shoulder and grinned with some of his previous humor. "Yeah sureyabetcha."

xXx

Jack watched as the 'Janet Fraiser' opened a warp window and disappeared. Had it only been a couple of hours ago when he'd gladly throttled Heimdall – and reveled in it? Without thinking, he flexed his fingers with the remembrance of that – he'd come so close. It's what he'd wanted to do to Loki, but was never given the chance.

However, what Sam had said about scientists and their excitement at new routes of investigation made sense; even if it did sound like most of them willingly accepted ethical blinders to the ramifications of their experimental research.

The little runt had certainly sounded sincere when he came with Ernie to say goodbye. He had to admire Heimdall; he could see that he was still fearful, carefully standing just out of reach – that and his response when Ernie took his leave. Jack could see those stringy little muscles quiver with Heimdall's extreme desire to step back further, and had almost checked to see if the exit was clear.

It was those few deliberate steps to stand face to belly button that cinched it. Of course, the words of undying fealty sounded good, but physical actions always spoke louder than any words. It was enough to almost forgive the little runt – almost – but not quite.

He guessed he'd have to eventually, he could see the same look in Heimdall's eyes that Ernie had. He had a new devotee whether he liked it or not.

The black of space coalesced into streamers of blue, and he pulled Sam closer, she hugged back in response.

"Thor said it would be only a few minutes," she whispered sadly.

Jack grunted in response. Thor had given them a couple of choices, and somehow his recommendation was exactly what he wanted. An old star had exploded and only a relatively short time ago, in the galactic scheme of things. Its shock wave lingered – still strong and spreading out. And in its wake was left sparkling new stars. It was pretty now, but would be spectacular in another dozen centuries or so.

Sam had agreed. Jackie would be part of the new life and beauty that a stellar death had brought forth. It was fitting.

"We're here." Sam's voice broke Jack from his thoughts to look out over the view, it was even better in person.

Jack didn't have to turn around to know that Thor had entered the small observation chamber. He would come, briefly and then leave. This was private and his little buddy wasn't in the least bit stupid.

"All is ready, O'Neill." And Thor left. He had to love the guy, he could doubt the Asgard till the cows came home, but Thor always lived up to his expectations of a friend, alien or not.

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, Sam. She'll love it here." Jack felt his eyes prick, he was truly sad. He knew this had to be, but it would have been nice . . .

Looking down into Sam's eyes, he saw the same wistful look and knew she had the same thought. A few tears slid down her face and he hugged her tighter.

"Some day, Sam."

"Lots and lots of kids," she smiled bravely up at him. Sometimes he just couldn't believe it. This woman loved him. He was one lucky SOB.

Sam wiggled an arm loose; her slender finger probed at his cheek and came way with a glistening tear. He hadn't even felt it. And before he knew it she grasped the back of his neck to bend his head down and stood on her tiptoes. Their lips met, and he tasted that salty tear, quick and tender. He felt the next tear.

Jack almost groaned when she released him and broke off the sweetest kiss he'd ever known. He watched as she took up his slack left hand in hers and guided it to the small console panel before the transparent section of hull that stood between them and the still expanding explosion of a star long dead.

Sam maneuvered his long sturdy finger to the proper pad and pressed it down, both of their heads riveted to the sight outside the ship. The flash of an Asgard transport beam, closely followed by what looked like the biggest chrysanthemum fireworks explosion he'd ever seen.

He and Sam pulled each other close; both drew in a breath of awe at the display of flickering flashes in hues to rival the bright nebula in the background. They held on for a long, long time – lost in their own thoughts, but never so far away as to forget the other.

Finally they looked at each other, volumes passed between them. Words were so unnecessary sometimes, and this one of those times.

"Thor?"

"Yes, O'Neill."

"We're finished. Take us home."

"As you wish."

"I wish," Jack whispered to the walls. "I have a score to settle with a certain Bocce Baal."

xXx

Epilogue

Baal opened his eyes and stared at the lit panels that surrounded him. Within seconds, the lid of the sarcophagus split and ground apart with the sound of stone grinding on stone. He blinked his eyes against the glare of overhead lights and accepted the assistance of the burly arm that appeared in front of him.

He sat up and then stood – his dark eyes took in every detail of his surroundings – both who was there to greet their god – and who was not.

Surprisingly, his queen was there. Her loyalty would be rewarded later in the privacy of their bedchamber.

"My Lord, Baal," she intoned with a curl of her perfectly formed lips. "We have missed your presence."

Baal smiled and his eyes flashed. "As have I, my precious queen," he stepped out of the box; his haughty bearing proclaimed that he held the power of life or death over all present.

"Come with me," he took her outstretched hand in his own, "We have much to plan once we return to the home world of the Tau'ri."

Of course, my lord, your clones will surely rejoice at your safe return," her eyes flashed as they shared a private joke. They both knew the welcome the clones showed toward their original would be less than cordial.

"And revenge?" Anat's sculpted eyebrows rose with a question and spoiled her otherwise beautiful face.

"But of course," Baal purred.

xXx

The End


End file.
